Run Dusty Run
by Got A Book
Summary: The Green Hornet rescues a famous jockey's sister from kidnappers. She refuses to tell the police her suspicions about her brother's criminal activity, leading the Green Hornet to investigate.
1. Preface

The Green Hornet

Run Dusty Run

Preface

This fanfic is based on the TV series more than any other incarnation of _The Green Hornet_. The original setting (Detroit, courtesy of the radio show) is left intact, and a little license was taken with the description of the secret entrance to Britt's home. Otherwise, I tried to remain true to the TV series.

The plot of this story is heavily influenced by the fact that I pass Churchill Downs every day on the way to work. A good deal of fun was incurred when picking out the names of the horses (the name "Wild About Saffron" comes from the Donovan song "Mellow Yellow"). The fanfic's title comes from a Long Ryders song about a man who "bets a horse with someone else's money." The start of the horse race is a paraphrase of a line from another great song about spending too much money and time at the track, "Meet Your New Landlord" by Sonny Landreth.

With much respect to the creators, producers, directors, writers, and actors who made _The Green Hornet_ the classic that it is,

Karen

November 2004


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Betting tickets littered the floor as people threw them in disgust after the horse race. What could have been a valuable possession had the proper horse crossed the finish line first quickly became refuse. The afternoon crowd dissipated, some going to collect winnings, some to hope for better luck on the next bet, and others who called it a day, either tired of losing or unwilling to push their luck any further.

Sid Scott sat in a private glass-enclosed suite situated above the crowd and perpendicular to the finish line. In his black business suit he was barely distinguishable from other businessmen in other suites. What did stand out was his smile. He was obviously on a winning streak. A notepad lay opened on the table amid half-filled wine glasses. Scott's smile grew wider after making calculations in the notepad. He smoothed his graying hair, almost in disbelief of the figures.

The ringing of the phone in the suite broke the silent jubilation. An associate dutifully answered. "Yeah?" The man was also dressed in a suit, but his tone and facial expression indicated he was unaccustomed to such attire.

"This is Dusty," the man on the other end of the phone said in a panting voice. "I need to talk to Mr. Scott."

"It's Blackwell," the man called, extending the phone toward Scott.

Scott raised his hand with an uninterested look as if he was shooing a fly. "What's he want?" he snarled, the joyous smile suddenly gone.

The man returned the phone to his ear. "What do you want?"

"Out," came the answer over the phone.

"Out?" the man repeated with a tone combining disbelief and laughter.

Scott bolted from his seat and snatched the phone from the other man's hand. "What do you mean," Scott growled into the phone so that the four words came out as one.

"I'm tired of this," the man on the other end of the line said in a whisper.

"Listen, Blackwell," Scott hissed, "I stand to make over two million dollars in the spring meet, half of that this weekend. That is depending on you to keep your end of the deal."

"But..."

"I don't appreciate people backing out on me," Scott said. "You've been paid for your services. You'd best deliver." Scott slammed the phone down before the man on the other end could answer.

"Trouble?" the man who had answered the phone asked.

Scott looked at the three men who occupied his private suite for a moment, then let his gaze move to the track outside. Horses were beginning to move toward the starting gate for the next race. "Could be," Scott mumbled. "We might need to persuade Blackwell to stay in our good graces, at least until the Sentinel Stakes this weekend." Scott paced the floor near the seat he had previously occupied. His three accomplices watched each step with nervous anticipation. "I think," Scott finally continued, "we need some leverage to make sure everything goes well this weekend."

Scott smiled at the three mean. All three were young, professionally dressed, and mean looking. The trio stood silently, ready to do Scott's bidding. "He'll be more cooperative if we were to _talk_..." He raised his eyebrows slightly and smiled as he uttered the word "talk." "...To his sister." His expression indicated more disgust than happiness. "Pick her up," he ordered.

* * *

Clouds thickened in the western sky, bringing an abrupt end to the early spring late afternoon sunshine. The light cloud cover that permitted occasional peeks of sun to filter through was quickly losing ground to the imposing storm clouds. In the far distance an occasional flash of lightning darted across the sky, an additional warning of what was to come.

The highway outside of town saw scant traffic. The cars that did occupy the road sped along with an urgency that indicated the drivers were more concerned about getting home ahead of the approaching storm than speed limits, unconcerned if a speed trap might be lying in wait. No police patrolled, however. The only eyes watching the road were situated behind two masks – one green and one black – from a well-concealed black car that looked as ominous as its two occupants and the thunderstorm clouds. A camera hovered over the road, beaming back pictures to a monitor in the car. The man in the back seat watched in silence. Finally the silence was broken by the low rumble of thunder still off in the distance but marching eastward uninhibited.

"Okay, Kato," the man in the green mask said, "call the scanner back. These improvements work fine. We need to beat this storm home."

"Right." Kato Ikano, smartly dressed in black from his chauffeur's cap to his shoes, opened the door to a concealed control panel.

Just as his finger neared the switch, the man in the back called, "Wait a minute!" Kato's finger froze over the switch as if a stopped frame of film. "Something's happening."

The green-masked man glared at the monitor. A car had stopped abruptly on the side of the road near a bridge. From the view the flying camera provided it appeared that a struggle was occurring in the car. Someone could clearly be seen attempting to crawl out of the passenger side window from the back seat.

"Let's roll, Kato. This looks like trouble."

Kato started the car and left the wooded hiding place. The car sped toward the stopped automobile. The man in the back seat kept his eyes glued to the monitor screen. He saw a young woman emerge from the parked car, followed quickly by two men. The woman stooped to pick up a rock from the shoulder of the road and threw it at one of the men. He stopped in his tracks and grabbed the left side of his head, a sign that the rock had hit its mark. The second man produced a gun, and the woman froze as he thrust it in her direction. Instead of surrendering, however, she retreated, picking up speed proportionately to the attacker's advances. She continued backing up until she reached the overpass railing. As the attacker drew closer the woman went over the rail.

The action startled the man in the approaching car. "She jumped!" he exclaimed.

The man with the gun had a similar reaction. Momentarily paralyzed with shock, he recovered and peered over the rail. He saw the woman lying face down amid a grassy plateau some 20 feet below. His surprise was quickly replaced with fear at the sound of the approaching car.

"C'mon!" the man who had suffered the injury by the thrown rock yelled. He jumped behind the wheel of the car and pulled to where the other man stood.

"The boss isn't gonna like this," the second man snarled, shoving his gun into his pocket as he climbed into the front seat.

The car sped off, firing gravel and dirt from the shoulder as the black car neared. "Want me to follow them?" Kato asked, diverting his glare from the road to the rear-view mirror, making eye contact with the man in the green mask.

"No, Kato," he replied. "We'd better check on her first."

Lightning and thunder drew closer as Kato pulled the car to a stop from where the other car had just left. While Kato recalled the video camera to its storage compartment in the trunk, the other man climbed out of the car. He was neatly dressed, wearing a green overcoat and green hat to match the green mask covering his eyes and nose. His hands were wrapped in black leather gloves. The hornet insignia between the eyes on the mask was much like the pit between the eyes of a rattlesnake: anyone who was close enough to see it was in serious danger.

The Green Hornet peered over the rail to see the woman. He could see she was moving. "She's..." A loud crack of thunder following a close lightning flash drowned out the word "alive". The smell of rain hung in the air as the wind picked up from the west. The storm was almost upon them.

"We can't get her up here in time," Kato observed with a sense of urgency.

The Hornet nodded. "Let's get her under this bridge until the storm passes."

Kato secured their automobile, the Black Beauty, as the Hornet jumped over the rail. He landed on his feet on the plateau about five feet from the woman. In haste to reach safety from the storm he ignored any courtesies, merely turning the woman over onto her back before picking her up. Her eyes were closed. _Perhaps she thinks I'm one of those men she just escaped from_, the Hornet thought. _Just as well. The last thing she needs at this moment is to see who has her now._

Kato brought a blanket from the trunk of the car with him. He joined his partner just as the Hornet and his cargo reached the underpass. He got as close to the pavement above as he could in the center of the bridge. He then laid the woman down. Kato moved on the other side of the woman, covering her with the blanket.

The storm reached their location, the black clouds and driving rain sheets turning the late afternoon to night. The only light visible was from the incessant lightning. The Hornet watched the woman's form. A loud clap of thunder caused her to jerk in surprise. He smiled. The involuntary reaction to the noise, lit by the flashes from the thunderstorm, told him she was awake. The two men sat down, one on either side of the woman, to wait out the storm.

The Green Hornet and Kato were accustomed to waiting. It was part of their job. The young woman, however, was not as familiar with the practice, so after a few minutes of nothing but the sounds of the rain and thunder she sat up and opened her eyes.

"Don't worry," the Hornet said, "you're safe. What's your name?"

"Marsha," the woman replied. "Marsha Blackwell. Who are you?"

"You can call me Green," the Hornet said with a smile that went unnoticed because of the darkness.

In the shadows she could not see the man's face, only that he was wearing a hat. There was a sense of reassurance in the tone of the man's voice that reiterated his words. The fact that she had a blanket over her confirmed that the person who had carried her to safety was indeed friend, not foe.

"Well, thanks for your help, Mr. Green," Marsha said. "If you hadn't happened along when you did, I don't know...and I don't want to think about it."

"Who were those men?" the Hornet asked.

"I don't know," the woman replied in a soft, frightened voice. "I think they're people my brother's involved with."

"Your brother has some impolite associates," Kato observed. The sound of a second man's voice startled the woman. She turned to face the direction from which Kato's voice had come, but the darkness of the storm prevented her from seeing his face as well.

Marsha sighed beneath the roar of thunder overhead. "I don't know everything," she admitted. "My brother's a jockey, and..."

Marsha's last name registered in the Hornet's memory. "Dusty Blackwell?"

"That's him," Marsha confirmed. "I don't _know_, but I _think_ he's mixed up with something. He's been acting very strangely during the spring races."

"I'd say it's a safe bet he's 'mixed up with something'," the Hornet said. "I can't think of any other reason for someone to abduct you at gunpoint."

"Are you alright?" Kato asked.

"I think..." She paused to take a deep breath in an attempt to collect herself. "I think I broke my ankle when I jumped."

"That was a brave thing to do," Kato said.

Marsha shrugged. "I took a chance. It, fortunately, paid off."

The trio sat in silence for a moment until Kato notice it was silent. He looked beyond the overpass under which they had sought shelter and saw the rain reduced to a light shower. The darkness was fading in favor of the overcast light of late afternoon. "Looks like it's clearing up," Kato announced.

"Good," the Hornet said, standing. "Let's get her out of here."

Kato took the blanket from Marsha while the Hornet helped her to her feet. The injury to her foot caused by the jump prevented her from staying in a standing position. She started to fall, but the Hornet caught her by bracing himself with his feet on the scant flat ground under the overpass. "Okay, that's not going to work," he said. "Sit down." Marsha dutifully did as requested. Kato locked his arms under hers while the Hornet picked up her feet. They carefully maneuvered out from under the bridge, watching their footing so as not to slide down the embankment with their precious cargo.

Marsha felt safe with the two men, assuring herself in her mind that the nightmare was over. Her attitude instantaneously changed when the trio emerged from under the overpass and she saw who held her legs. She was literally in the hands of the notorious Green Hornet, one of the most wanted criminals in Detroit city history. Her heart began racing, not because of the tricky task of being carried up to the road on wet ground, but because of who was carrying her. Still, something was askew in her mind. The man under the bridge spoke in a gentle, reassuring tone of voice, and seemed genuinely concerned about her well being. How could that compassionate person be this hated criminal?

Kato led through the brush and weeds, carefully contemplating his footing so as not to send the threesome back down the embankment. He reached the shoulder of the road and sat Marsha down on the guardrail. The Hornet joined him on level, safe ground. The two of them then picked Marsha up, one man on each side of her body, and carried her to the Black Beauty. Kato used one hand to open the right rear door before they maneuvered Marsha into the seat. "Let's go," the Hornet said. The two men both went to the left side of the car and climbed in.

The fear and dread Marsha thought she was finally free of was back with a vengeance. She had escaped one captor, only to find herself held by a much worse menace. "What are you going to do to me?" Marsha heard herself asking. The fact that she had the nerve to speak, now that she knew she was face-to-face with the Green Hornet, surprised her.

"You need medical attention for that ankle," the Hornet replied. "Unfortunately, I can't walk you into a hospital and say, 'Please treat this woman.' So, I'm going to take you some place where I know you'll be properly treated."

"You're...not..." Marsha found herself stunned by the announcement, almost to the point where she could not speak. "Going to...hurt me?"

"Why should I?" the Hornet replied. "You don't have anything I want." _That's not true_, he thought to himself. _You have information, valuable information. Still, I can't ask for it. Not dressed like this._

Marsha sighed, finding herself believing the Green Hornet's words instead of his reputation. She peered out of the car window in time to see a rainbow appear as the sun came out beyond the storm clouds. When she turned her attention back to the man in the car seat next to her, she received a quick dose of Hornet Gas and collapsed into sleep, her body slumping toward the Hornet. He caught her and gently moved her back so she rested against the door of the car. "Sorry, Miss Blackwell," the Hornet said to the unconscious woman.

"Where to?" Kato asked.

"Home," the Hornet replied. "The Green Hornet is going to leave a present on Britt Reid's doorstep." The Hornet picked up the mobile phone in the back of the car and dialed a number.

* * *

Frank P. Scanlon looked out of his office window, watching the rainbow. The city District Attorney admired the beauty of the rainbow after the nasty clouds moved east beyond the city following the storm. Frank forgot about his problems for a few moments, enjoying the freshness that a spring thunderstorm brought.

The ringing telephone brought him back to reality and his duties. "Scanlon," he answered on the second ring.

"Frank," came a familiar voice on the other end.

"Hi, Britt. What's up?"

"Do you have a missing person report on Marsha Blackwell?"

"Hang on a moment." Frank put the phone down without bothering to use the red "hold" button. He fumbled through a stack of papers. He saw the name on a report and picked the phone up. "Yes," he replied. "She was just reported missing about two hours ago."

"We've got her."

"What? How?"

"I'll explain later. Right now, I need you to get over to my place. The Green Hornet is about to put her on my front porch."

"I'm on my way. Oh, Britt, is she alright?"

"She appears to be, except for a possible broken ankle."

"Alright, Britt, I'll see you in a few minutes." Frank hung the phone up, picked up his glasses off the blotter on his desk, and fumbled for his keys. He went out the door en route to his friend's house. He knew that, even though the city was after him as District Attorney to bring the Green Hornet to justice, it would be impossible to catch him at Britt's house. He hardly wanted to catch him, either. He could never let the world know that _Daily Sentinel _publisher and DSTV owner Britt Reid and the Green Hornet were one and the same person.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Kato parked the Black Beauty in the garage, then hid it via the mechanical marvel of the revolving garage floor. The floor turned, hiding the Black Beauty and revealing Britt Reid's convertible. The Green Hornet stood next to him in the garage, holding the sleeping Marsha Blackwell in his arms. "Okay, Kato, get changed, and I'll go put her on the front doorstep." Kato nodded and the two men went two separate ways.

Kato emerged in the home of publisher Britt Reid in his role of valet. He traded his black uniform for a white coat. He stopped in the kitchen to prepare some hot tea and coffee and to wait. By the time the coffee had begun percolating Britt Reid appeared in the doorway, free of his Green Hornet clothing. Instead, he now wore a gray-blue business suit. The two men nodded silently to each other, then Britt went to the front door to retrieve Marsha Blackwell from the doorstep where he, as the Green Hornet, had sat her just moments earlier.

Britt put Marsha, still unconscious from the gas, on the sofa in his living room. He took a seat in a chair near the sofa and watched for signs of her coming to. Kato brought a tray filled with cups, silver tea and coffee pots, and accessories from the kitchen. He sat the tray on the table near the sofa after pausing to look at Marsha's sleeping form.

"Did you get the license number?" Britt asked quietly, reaching for some coffee.

"No," Kato replied.

Britt shook his head in frustration. "I didn't, either. I was more concerned about her."

Kato left to answer the knock at the door. He let Frank Scanlon in, gesturing toward the living room with a nod of his head in that direction. Frank smiled a thank-you and hurried to where Britt sat. His eyes moved from Britt's face when his peripheral vision caught sight of the woman on the sofa. Frank took a long look at Marsha. She was very young, Frank would guess no more than 22. Her shoulder-length brown hair was unkempt from the ordeal she had endured. Otherwise, her casual jeans and blouse showed no evidence of adventure.

"What happened?" Frank whispered.

"I'll let her tell you," Britt replied, "and I'll fill in anything she leaves out."

Marsha began to stir, regaining consciousness. She opened her eyes quickly, expecting to find herself still with the Green Hornet. Instead, she discovered the warm comforts of Britt's home. She also noticed three men staring intently at her, each with an obvious look of concern. Marsha sat up, shaking her head in an attempt to unite her senses. "Where..."

"You're in my home," Britt replied. "I'm Britt Reid. This is Frank Scanlon, the District Attorney, and my valet, Kato." He gestured to each with the mention of their names.

"Britt Reid? The owner of the _Daily Sentinel_?" Britt confirmed with a nod of his head. "How did I get here?"

"I came home and found you lying on my doorstep. What's your name?"

"Marsha. Marsha Blackwell."

"Miss Blackwell," Britt said, "don't you remember anything?"

"The last thing I remember..." She stopped as her memory replayed the events of two hours earlier. "The Green Hornet!"

"What?" Frank said.

"Ow!" Marsha said. The combination of the excitement of the day and sleep had delayed the onset of the pain caused by her jump over the bridge rail. Now she was fully awake and fully aware of the injury to her ankle. She reached for the offending ankle, rubbing it while grimacing.

"Are you alright?" Frank asked.

"Yes, sir," Marsha replied. "It's a long story."

"I want to hear all of it," Frank assured her.

"Would you like some coffee or tea, Miss?" Kato offered politely.

"No, thank you." Marsha held her head with her hand as if to organize her thoughts. "I was kidnapped at college today," she started. "I was going to get lunch. A car pulled up and a man jumped out with a gun and pushed me in the back."

"Can you describe them?" Frank asked.

"The man with the gun was slim, dark hair, about six feet tall," Marsha recalled. She struggled to picture the driver, but the only thought in her mind was her thrown rock hitting him in the side of the head. "I didn't get a good look at the driver, sorry."

"That's okay," Britt said. "What about the Green Hornet? You mentioned..."

Marsha chuckled at the mention of the name. "You won't believe me, Mr. Reid."

"Try me."

"Well," Marsha said, "these two men were driving west, out of town. I didn't know what they were going to do, so I stuck my finger in my mouth to make myself sick. They pulled over, and I tried to get away. I hit the driver with a rock I'd picked up from the road, but the other one pulled a gun, so I jumped over a guardrail at an overpass to get away. I must've broken my ankle or something when I landed, but I just lay down and played dead.

"I thought I heard the car leave, but then I heard people again. A man picked me up and carried me under the bridge just before that thunderstorm hit. He had a blanket for me, and asked if I was okay. When he carried me out from under the bridge I saw it was the Green Hornet!"

"Go on," Britt said.

"He put me in his car and drove off with me. He said he wasn't going to hurt me, and he would take me somewhere so I could get to a doctor. I must've fallen asleep in his car. Next thing I know, I'm here."

"Why wouldn't we believe that?" Frank asked.

"He was..." Marsha laughed at the word in her mind. "I never thought I'd hear _anyone_ say this about the Green Hornet, let alone myself. He was absolutely _gentlemanly_."

Britt and Frank exchanged knowing glances with each other. "I don't find it hard to believe," Frank admitted. He raised his eyebrows and added, "Granted, I find it odd that he picked _here_ to drop you."

"At least you _are_ safe," Britt said, "and we _will_ get you medical attention."

* * *

The city room of the _Daily Sentinel_ had the normal low buzz reverberating through the large open space. In addition to the chatter, the occasional ring of a typewriter bell, pecking of the typewriter keys, or low growl of the carriage return echoed above the talk. The most common sound, however, was the rustling of newsprint. Reporters poured over their colleagues' work, offering a word of praise for an exceptional article. The familiar chorus of "Morning, Mr. Reid" began filtering through the room as Britt Reid made his way toward the office door that bore his name and title.

Lenore Case sat at her desk inside her office, glancing through the morning edition of the paper. The story on page one held her interest. "Sister of Famed Jockey Escapes Kidnapping Plot" was the main story. Seeing Britt Reid's name on the byline, Casey, as everyone called her, settled into reading intently. Her attention was distracted from the article when she heard the door to her office open.

"Good morning, Mr. Reid," she smiled.

"Good morning, Miss Case," Britt replied, stopping at her desk.

Casey gestured toward the newspaper on her desk. "I see you were busy yesterday," she commented with a wry smile.

"Busy, and frustrated," Britt said, reaching for the knob to the door that led from his secretary's office to his private office. Casey gathered the paper and followed Britt into the office, closing the door behind them.

"Why frustrated?"

Britt sat behind his desk. He peered through the window that showed Casey's empty outer office. "Marsha Blackwell told the Green Hornet a number of things that she left out of her statement to the District Attorney and the police," he said. "She knows – or I should say _suspects_ – that her brother is tied up in something criminal, which was why she was kidnapped in the first place."

"Why did she hold out on the police?" Casey wondered aloud.

"That's the same question Frank and I asked each other last night," Britt replied.

"If Dusty Blackwell _is_ involved in something," Casey said, "might she be quiet to protect him?"

Britt nodded. "Or, herself. At any rate, we need to find out exactly _what_ Dusty Blackwell is involved in, and with whom. If they're willing to kidnap, my guess is the stakes are high. _Very_ high."

"I was just reading your article," Casey said, holding the paper up for Britt to see. "You know who's going to _hate_ this?"

Britt nodded. "Try to head him off at the pass."

Casey smirked. "You'd need a brick wall to stop him, as mad as he's going to be. The Green Hornet getting positive press? I'm sorry, Mr. Reid. If you want _me_ to stop him, I demand hazard pay. _In advance_."

Britt chuckled at Casey's joke just as the door to her office flung open. Mike Axford charged in, his face as red as his short hair. Mike was the _Sentinel_'s veteran crime beat reporter. He had two passions: his job, which he loved, and the Green Hornet, whom he loathed.

"Duck," Britt smiled to Casey.

"Boss," Mike said as he entered the publisher's office without a knock or an invitation, "how _could_ you?"

"How could I _what_, Mike?" Britt asked innocently. Casey hid her face behind the newspaper in her hand to conceal her laugh.

"How could you say that in your article?" Mike unfolded the paper and quoted Britt's article on the Marsha Blackwell kidnapping. "Miss Blackwell reported the Green Hornet released her, unharmed, at my home. She described the notorious criminal's treatment of her as 'gentlemanly'." Mike snapped the paper in disgust.

"Mike," Britt said, taking a seat behind his desk, "there's a basic rule all reporters learn their first day in journalism class. That rule is, 'don't misquote'."

"Yeah, but..."

"Listen, Mike," Britt continued, "I don't _like_ the fact that there are murders committed in this city. But what I _like_ and what my obligation is as the publisher of this paper to our readers are two different things. I can't misquote a source, no matter what my _personal_ feelings are about what the person said." Britt extended his right index finger in Mike's direction. "And I'd better never find out that _you_ misquoted someone because you didn't like what they said. Understand?"

Mike was still furious, but he knew that Britt was correct. "Understood. I'm sorry."

Britt nodded an acceptance. "I know you're angry, Mike, but a good reporter doesn't let his personal feelings get in the way of his job."

"It _still_ burns me up," Mike mumbled.

"I'm not too thrilled about it myself, Mike, but I couldn't tell Miss Blackwell to restate her facts until she gave me a quote I liked, could I?"

Mike waved the paper. "Thanks for letting me rant, Boss." He left in a more subdued manner than he had arrived.

"Anytime, Mike," Britt called as the door to his office started to close. After Mike cleared the outer office door, Britt smiled at Casey. "See, that wasn't so bad."

"You shouldn't have given him any ideas," Casey warned. "He'll probably call Marsha Blackwell and ask her to restate her facts."

"Miss Case," Britt said, refocusing his attention on the previous day's events, "would you contact the sports department and ask them to send up every article they've published on Dusty Blackwell?"

"Yes, sir," she said. She left Britt's office and returned to her desk. Through the window Britt saw her pick up the phone and contact the sports desk. He rocked back in his executive chair. Hopefully the printed past would shed some light on what Dusty Blackwell was involved in.

* * *

His given name was Joel, but he picked up his nickname long before he became a jockey. The biography the _Sentinel_ ran on Dusty Blackwell after his first year in horse racing, when he won a state record 156 races, reported that he was christened "Dusty" because he was always dirty as a child. The joke was that the _Peanuts_ comic strip character "Pig Pen" was modeled after him. When he became a jockey, the nickname took on a new meaning: his skill in handling horses, knowing just when and how to coax the best out of the animals, caused him to leave others in his dust on the horse track.

Britt poured over the articles from the _Sentinel_ archives, looking for anything that might provide a clue. He skipped going out for lunch, settling for a sandwich ordered from a nearby deli, to continue his research. Nothing out of the ordinary showed up in the voluminous writings from sports.

A two-week-old article lay near the bottom of the pile. Britt rubbed his eyes to remove the strain before reading the editorial from the sports editor. "What's Wrong with Dusty Blackwell?" the headline read. Britt raised his eyebrows as he picked the article up, leaned back in his chair, and read.

_For five years, Dusty Blackwell has owned horse racing in Detroit. Betting against him is like betting against sunshine in Florida, snow in Alaska, or pineapples in Hawaii. Since he burst onto the scene, his name has been synonymous with winning. He was the first – and, to date, only – jockey to win every race at Motor City Downs four days in a row. That's 28 races in a row without a loss. And we thought his rookie season of 156 victories was impressive? He was just warming up. _

_But this year's spring race meet has been a different story. One is almost tempted to walk up to him and say, "Who are you and what have you done with Dusty Blackwell?" Dusty is still winning, yes, but nowhere near the pace at which he did last year. It's not as though he's getting Francis the Talking Mule as a mount. The horses he's ridden have been champions – Kentucky Derby contenders, Horse of the Year nominees, and colts from the best bloodlines that thoroughbred racing has to offer. Until now, Blackwell made every horse he rode seem as majestic and unbeatable as Man O' War. Now he almost appears to be riding Mister Ed. In fact, if he were racing against Wilbur Post, at Blackwell's current pace I'd bet on Wilbur._

Britt put the article down and reached for the phone located to the right of his desk, hidden out of sight on a corner shelf. He dialed Frank Scanlon's number.

"Scanlon," Frank answered.

"Frank," Britt said, "have you come up with anything on Dusty Blackwell?"

"Nothing," Frank replied. "He's an impeccable young man, very active in the community, and well-liked by everyone in horse racing."

"I just found a sports editorial we ran about two weeks ago," Britt said. "It said his winning rate has dropped dramatically this year."

"Do you have any ideas?"

"Yes," Britt said, "but I don't like it."

"Let's hear it," Frank said. "An idea is better than any facts we have right now, which is nothing."

"Frank, what if someone was bribing – or blackmailing – Dusty to throw races?"

"That thought has crossed my mind," Frank admitted, "but who?"

"Good question," Britt said. "Anyone who was betting against Dusty would make a killing at the windows. And, _something_ has scared Marsha Blackwell into not talking. She didn't tell the police anything." Britt paused for a moment, gazing sadly at the editorial. "I'll tell you what, Frank," Britt said, "I think it's time Dusty was confronted about this. The Green Hornet will pay him a visit tonight."


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Mike Axford was not the only person infuriated by Britt Reid's story on page one of the _Sentinel_. Sid Scott's rage made Mike's look tame by comparison. Scott spent his morning reading and re-reading the article, his temper rising each time his peripheral vision caught sight of the newspaper headline. Nothing in the article that Scott had committed to memory by the time his henchmen arrived at his spacious home indicated that either the police or Marsha Blackwell considered the kidnapping attempt anything other than just that.

Sid Scott was average height and looks. He appeared to be a typical businessman. Nothing in his appearance gave any indication that he was the mastermind of a scheme to make millions of dollars for himself. Scott's accomplices were more muscle men than business associates. The two brothers, Gene and Pete Haley, arrived first. Gene had a white gauze bandage taped on the left side of his forehead, concealing the injury inflicted by Marsha Blackwell's rock the day before. The two men were wearing the same brown suits they had worn the day before when they briefly succeeded in abducting Marsha, and both had unkempt brown hair. They appeared to have spent a sleepless night because of their failure, apprehensive to face their boss.

When the Haley brothers entered Scott's study, he confirmed their fears. "Good going, you two!" Scott exploded, hurling the copy of the _Sentinel_ at the door they had entered. The paper came apart in mid-air and landed in five sheets on the floor a few inches from where Scott stood.

Gene, about two inches taller than his brother, shrugged. "She said she was sick," he explained. "I didn't know she was going to bean me with a rock." He tenderly fingered the gauge on his head. "And I _certainly_ didn't think she'd jump."

"She looked dead," Pete said. "That storm was coming, and so was a car. We couldn't take a chance to check."

"And what do you think she told the Green Hornet?" Scott said. "Or the police?"

"From the article in the paper, she didn't say anything to anybody," Gene replied. He stared at his boss for a moment. "Why, do you think Dusty told her anything?"

Scott returned to his desk and picked up the phone. "Let's find out." He dialed a number. After a moment of waiting, he spoke into the receiver. "Good morning, Blackwell." He smiled while listening to Dusty on the other end. "No, of course I'm not going to hurt your sister. I just wanted to emphasize my warning to you from yesterday. You have been paid, and you'd best hold up your end of the bargain. Next time, we won't be so friendly." Scott slammed the receiver down, letting the phone receive the brunt of his frustration.

The noise the phone made still echoed in the room as the three men who had been at the racetrack with Scott the previous day entered. James Costello was the shortest of the three. Bob Newby and Bill White were the same height, but Newby was stockier than White. The men exchanged glances with one another upon being welcomed in the room by Scott's assault on his telephone. They sighed almost in unison, waiting for Scott to acknowledge their presence rather than speak to him.

"All right, all right," Scott grumbled. "_Hopefully_ Blackwell will do what I paid him to do." He gestured toward the two brothers. "You two had better hide if he doesn't."

* * *

The Black Beauty maneuvered through the side streets like a panther. The police scanner was on, and Kato made a mental note of any officer who gave the dispatcher a location in their vicinity. More than one cop had spotted the Black Beauty and tried to chase it down in vain, a testimony to the engineering marvel of the car's specially-designed engine as well as its driver. Fortunately, the police were not in the path of the Green Hornet on this particular evening.

Kato pulled the car to a stop in front of a brick house on a cul-de-sac. Nothing about the house's brick exterior indicated that a sports star resided there. Kato checked the address on the mailbox at the curb. "This is it," he announced, peering in the rear view mirror as he put the car in park.

"Let's go."

The two men left the car in unison. Instead of walking to the front door and knocking they separated at the sidewalk, the Hornet going to the right and Kato to the left. The two men met inside the fenced-in back yard near a patio door. They peered in. They could see Dusty Blackwell sitting in the living room, reading the paper. The Hornet tried the sliding door and found it unlocked. He slid the door open just far enough for a space to accommodate his body. Kato followed like a lethal shadow, pausing to slide the door shut behind him.

Dusty was engrossed in the article about his sister and was therefore unaware that he had two uninvited guests. Their silent entrance did nothing to announce their presence. Dusty finished the article with a shake of his head. The Hornet took the cue to introduce himself. "Good evening, Blackwell," he said. The surprise jolted Dusty out of his chair. He turned quickly and saw the two masked men.

"The Green Hornet," Dusty said. His voice was deep, curiously out of place coming from a man of such small stature. "What..."

"Let's talk about your sister," the Hornet said, not waiting for Dusty to finish the question. He strolled over to Dusty, his 6'3" frame towering over the jockey who was a foot shorter. "I'm rather curious as to why two men abducted her at gunpoint."

"What makes you think I would know?" Dusty asked, fear apparent in his voice.

"There isn't much to do under a bridge during a thunderstorm except talk," the Hornet replied in his typical stern, no-nonsense tone. "Your sister seems to think you're involved with something that necessitated her kidnapping. I tend to think that as well, and I want to know _what_ you're involved in."

"I appreciate your helping my sister, but I think you're dreaming," Dusty said, feigning defiance.

"I don't think so," the Hornet replied. "If it was a kidnapping for money, there would've been a ransom note. It's no 'dream' that there was no report of a ransom note. What your sister said was no 'dream'." The Hornet leaned down so Dusty could see the penetrating pale blue eyes behind the green mask. "And, that _Sentinel _article with none of the things that she told me isn't a dream. So, what are you involved in?"

The stare behind the mask and the stone expression from the lips frightened Dusty. The panic was evident in Dusty's face as he backed away from the Hornet. He, however, said nothing.

"Have it your way," the Hornet said after a moment of tense silence, turning for the patio door. He and Kato reached the door. As he slid the door open, the Hornet turned back to face Dusty. "Just remember, Blackwell, next time your sister's kidnapped, we might not be around to prevent it." The two left, with Kato sliding the door shut behind them.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The man standing at the entrance to the _Daily Sentinel_ city room looked out of place, as much for his size as the lost look on his boyish face. A reporter looked up from his notes and saw Dusty Blackwell glancing around the large room. "May I help you?" he asked, rising from his desk.

"I hope so," Dusty replied. "I'd like to see Britt Reid, please."

The reporter gestured toward the door at the back of the city room. "His office is right in there," he said. "His secretary will be able to help you."

"Thank you." Dusty made his way through the city room, his eyes looking for anyone who might have noticed him. He reached the door to Britt's office and opened it, then knocked.

The noise made Casey turn her head from the paperwork on her desk to the door. "May I help you?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Dusty said, "I'd like to know if I could see Britt Reid."

"I'll see if he can see you. May I have your name, please?"

"Dusty Blackwell."

Casey knew she would not have to ask if Britt wanted to see Dusty. "Just a moment, please." She rose from behind her desk and walked to the door that separated her office from Britt's. The curtains on the window between the two offices were open, and Casey could see Britt at his desk, pouring over information Frank Scanlon had confidentially provided. Casey knocked on the door.

"Yes?" she heard Britt call from inside.

She opened the door and walked into the office to Britt's desk instead of announcing the visitor from the door. "Mr. Reid, Dusty Blackwell is here to see you."

"Show him in, please," Britt said, standing in preparation to receive his guest.

Casey returned to the door and opened it. She gestured toward the inside of Britt's office as she called, "Mr. Blackwell? Mr. Reid will see you."

He walked by Casey, nodding a gesture of gratitude as he passed her. Casey lingered for a moment, noting the difference in size between the jockey and herself. She smiled, realizing that one of the requirements of being a jockey is to be small. Still, she wondered what it must do to a man's ego to be shorter in stature than most women. She took her thoughts back to her desk, leaving Dusty and Britt to the privacy of the publisher's office.

Britt shook Dusty's hand with a smile. "Mr. Blackwell," he said with a smile, "it's quite an honor to meet you."

Dusty smiled modestly. "I can say the same about you, Mr. Reid," he said. He sat in the chair Britt gestured to, while Britt sank onto the couch situated across from the chair Dusty rested in. "From what I understand, you were quite instrumental in rescuing my sister."

Britt chuckled. "I'd hardly call anything I did 'instrumental.' I came home from work and your sister was on my doorstep. The District Attorney is a friend of mine, so I called him. He phoned the police, and they took her to the hospital." Britt offered a shrug. "Nothing heroic about that."

Dusty looked over his right shoulder toward the door to ensure it was closed. He then leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. "May I ask you what she said?"

Taking his cue from Dusty, Britt also leaned forward and lowered his voice. "About what?"

"Anything. Everything."

Britt leaned back. "Everything is in the article I wrote," he said in a normal volume of voice. "Why do you ask?" Dusty wanted desperately to say something. Britt could see that fact in the young man's body language. He decided to probe deeper. "Can you give me a hint as to what you're looking for? I mean, we _did_ talk about the weather, but that wasn't germane to the kidnapping."

"Did she mention a man by the name of Sid Scott?"

Britt took care to not change his facial expression upon hearing the name. "No," he said slowly after appearing to give the name some thought. "As I recall, the only person she mentioned was the Green Hornet. She said she didn't know the abductors." Dusty leaned back in silence. "Why are you asking, Mr. Blackwell? Do you think this Sid Scott is behind what happened to your sister?"

"Mr. Reid, can I ask a favor? If I were to tell you something, could you keep it a secret? Not publish it?"

"I'm good at keeping secrets," Britt smiled at his private joke.

Dusty opened his mouth as if to begin speaking, but stopped himself before uttering a sound. He closed his mouth and shook his head. "I'll tell you tomorrow," he said. "Can you meet me tomorrow evening?"

Britt rose and went to his desk. He checked his schedule. "Let's see...tomorrow I will be at the race track."

"You will?"

"Yes. Since the _Daily Sentinel_ is the sponsor of the Sentinel Stakes, I will present the trophy to the winning jockey. Would you like to meet me in my private suite after the race tomorrow?"

"That would be perfect," Dusty said enthusiastically.

Britt extended his hand as Dusty stood. "Fine. Then I'll see you tomorrow. Best of luck in the race. Perhaps I'll be giving you the trophy."

Casey watched Dusty leave Britt's office, then hers. After the door to her office closed she rose from her desk and went into her boss's office. A wide grin on Britt's face greeted her. "I take it you got some information from him."

"You bet." Britt removed a fob watch from his pocket and pushed a button. An inch-long golden antenna resembling a large needle popped out of the watch. "I may be gone for awhile." Casey nodded in understanding.

In Frank Scanlon's office, a low buzz began emanating from the frame of Frank's glasses. The noise, inaudible in the room, was annoying close to his ear. He jerked the glasses off his face and rubbed the frame to silence the alarm. He stood, grabbed his suit jacket that was draped over an unoccupied chair in front of his desk, and headed out the door. "Hold my calls," he told his secretary as he darted past her.

* * *

"Sid Scott?"

Frank sat in the den at Britt Reid's townhouse. The signal in his glasses had called him to a meeting with Britt. He sipped a cup of coffee served by Kato, standing by in his white jacket.

"That's the name Dusty used," Britt replied.

Frank gritted his teeth. "It seems he's been around since I got out of law school," he sighed. "I know it feels like I've wanted to bring him in that long."

"You've never been able to tie him to anything?" Kato asked.

"He's been implicated in a number of rackets," Frank said, "and his fair share of murders. But, he keeps an airtight lid on his operations." Frank chuckled at a memory. "You know what he told me once?" he said with a tone that combined humor and disgust. "He told me, point blank, I needed a search warrant, and no search warrant would turn up anything on him."

"_You_ might need a search warrant, Frank," Britt said, "but the Green Hornet _doesn't_."

Britt's comment struck at the core of the necessity for the existence of the Green Hornet. Frank's office and the police had to abide by the law. While that protected the innocent, and indeed was necessary for order in a civilized society, doing things "by the book" too many times allowed for criminals to escape punishment because of technicalities. On more than one occasion Frank as D.A. and Britt as newsman had watched guilty men walk free because a judge ruled that the police had failed to dot all the _I_'s and cross all the _T_'s, throwing out the voluminous evidence that would have otherwise convicted. Britt decided that someone had to do something, so he created an alter ego who was ostensibly a criminal. As an outlaw, the Green Hornet never concerned himself over such legalities as locked doors, search warrants, and "the right to remain silent." The bad part of the set-up was that the Green Hornet was, by reputation, more nefarious than a number of the criminals he helped bring to justice. Thanks in no small part to one of Britt's own employees – Mike Axford – the dramatic rise in arrest and convictions of criminals in Detroit went unheralded mainly because the Green Hornet was "public enemy #1" and still free.

"I was hoping you'd say that," Frank said. "Do you have a plan?"

"We'll come up with something by tonight."

"I'm curious, Britt," Frank said. "Did Dusty give you any indication of what he wants to tell you?'

"Nothing," Britt replied with a tone of frustration. "He obviously wants to talk, but something's got him scared."

"Our visit last night might've made him anxious to talk," Kato said.

"But he got cold feet at the last minute when he came to see me this morning," Britt mused.

Frank shook his head. "It's hard to believe he'd be afraid of someone more than the Green Hornet." In jest Frank pointed an accusing finger at Britt and said, "See? That 'gentlemanly' comment in the paper has ruined your reputation."

Both Britt and Kato showed their appreciation of the moment of levity by responding with smiles. "No, Frank," Britt said, "it's not that. We don't know anything. It was obvious that we were fishing for information last night, and he wasn't biting. But Kato's right, our visit _did_ make him willing to talk. Let's just hope he _will_ talk."

* * *

"Any messages?" Britt asked as he closed the door that separated Casey's office from the city room.

Casey was surprised to see Britt back in the office. Usually when he left to meet with Frank he was gone for the rest of the day, because Britt meeting with Frank usually meant the Green Hornet would make an appearance shortly thereafter. "Yes," she replied. She picked up a stack of paper nearly half an inch thick and pretended to read from each sheet. "Mike Axford called, and you have a message from Mike Axford. A Mr. Mike Axford wants to see you, and Mike..."

"Okay," Britt stopped Casey with a laugh. "What's the Capeless Crusader want?"

Casey followed Britt into his office. "I told you not to give him any ideas," she playfully chided.

"What?" Britt asked, fearing the answer.

"He's contacted Marsha Blackwell," Casey replied. "He wants 'the truth' about her encounter with the Green Hornet. To quote Mike..." Casey lowered her tone and produced a fair impersonation of Mike's voice. "'Gentlemanly,' ha!"

"Scanlon's already chewed me out about that," Britt said with a playful look in his eye. "Don't you start, too."

Casey looked inquisitively at her boss for an explanation. Britt could see Mike opening the door to Casey's office. "I'll explain later," he promised, his eyes fixed on the reporter in the outer office. Casey turned to follow Britt's stare and spotted Mike. "What if you tell him I'm not in?" Britt chuckled.

Mike rapped on Britt's door, then opened it without waiting for a reply. "I don't think he'd believe me," Casey whispered.

"Got a minute, Boss?" Mike asked.

"I'm all yours, Mike."

Casey smiled at Britt and turned to leave. "Wait, Casey," Mike said. Casey froze in her tracks. "This involves you, too." Mike focused his attention on the publisher. "I have an opportunity to talk to Marsha Blackwell," he announced.

"About what?" Britt said.

"A detailed account of being in the clutches of the Green Hornet," Mike replied proudly. "It's gonna be a great article!"

"So you think Mr. Reid left something out of _his_ account?" Casey said with a smile toward Britt, which quickly vanished when Mike turned to face her.

"No, no!" Mike said almost apologetically. "I mean..." Mike fumbled for an explanation that would not implicate him in disbelieving his employer's article. "I mean, that article focused on the _entire_ kidnapping. I'm just looking for the Green Hornet angle."

Britt shook his head with a laugh. "You're going to do your best to get her to retract that 'gentlemanly' statement, aren't you?"

"No!" Mike said, but his eyes betrayed his words.

Britt nodded in acceptance of Mike's scheme. "Sure, Mike, but how does Miss Case play into this?"

"Ah, well, Marsha's still a little shook up from that kidnapping a couple of days ago. Can you blame her? Anyway, she asked if I would bring a co-worker along to verify things. I thought she'd feel safest if I brought a girl along."

"Smart move," Britt admitted, "but that's Miss Case's call. I can't make her go with you."

Casey smiled and pushed her shoulder length dark blond hair back. "It's alright, Mr. Reid," she said. "I'd be happy to help Mike get his _big scoop_."


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Marsha Blackwell opened the door of apartment 27 for Casey. "Miss Blackwell?" Casey said. Marsha nodded as she balanced herself on her crutches. She was casually attired in a university women's soccer team warm-up suit and one tennis shoe on her left foot. Her right foot was heavily bandaged with a tan elastic wrap. "I'm Lenore Case from the _Daily Sentinel_," Casey introduced. "My co-worker, Mike Axford, contacted you earlier today about an interview."

"Yes," Marsha smiled. She took two hops backward to give Casey room to enter. After Casey cleared the door Marsha closed and locked the door and applied a security chain.

The entrance to Marsha's apartment was in the living room. A hallway immediately to the right of the door led to the bedrooms. Marsha's furnishings were simple, yet adequate, and tidy. The only things that appeared out of place were the college textbook and notebook lying open on the coffee table.

"Won't you sit down?" Marsha gestured toward the sofa and matching chairs situated in a C shape in the living room. Casey could tell Marsha had occupied the couch, no doubt to keep the injured foot propped up, so she opted for a chair. "Coffee?" Marsha offered.

"No, thanks," Casey said.

Marsha sank onto the sofa, simultaneously stretching her leg across the length of the couch and laying the crutches on the floor. "Thanks for coming, Miss Case," she said.

"Mike..." Casey stopped herself. "Mr. Axford has wanted to interview you since Mr. Reid's article ran."

Marsha shrugged. "I don't know what I can add. I thought Mr. Reid's article was most concise." Marsha slapped the arm of the sofa as she remembered something. "I'm sorry, Miss Case, I should've told you this first thing. Mr. Axford called just before you arrived. He said there was a grocery store fire near him and he was going to cover it, so he'll be a few minutes late."

_I wonder if he'll try to blame the fire on the Green Hornet_, Casey found herself thinking.

Outside of Marsha's apartment building, Bob Newby and James Costello sat inside a parked car, keeping the entrance to the building under surveillance. Twilight overtook the sky while they kept vigil. As the streetlights came on the two men turned their stare from the building to each other. Newby looked at his watch. "Let's go," he said.

"Do you think Dusty was ratting on the boss when you saw him at the newspaper today?" Costello said.

"It doesn't matter what _I_ think," Newby replied. "For all I know he was placing an ad for a lost puppy. But you know the boss."

"Yeah, well, if I stood to make as much as a million dollars on one race, I guess I'd be that way, too."

The two men left their car and entered the building. Instead of taking the elevator they walked the stairs to the second floor. The corridor was empty as they left the stairwell. Both men silently made their way to the door marked _27_. Costello did the honors of knocking.

"That must be Mike," Casey said upon hearing the knock. "Do you want me to get that?"

Marsha had already stood, obviously taking little time to adapt to the crutches. "Thanks, Miss Case, but I've got it." She hobbled to the door, removed the security chain and opened the door.

Newby barged in first, causing Marsha to gasp in surprise. Costello followed, quickly closing the door behind him. Marsha turned one of her crutches into a baseball bat, swinging for Newby's head. He ducked and the crutch hit the wall. Newby grabbed the crutch and pushed his weight behind his grip, sending Marsha falling backwards. One step on her injured ankle caused her to collapse onto the floor.

Casey was momentarily startled by the intrusion, but she recovered quickly enough to reach into her pocket for what appeared to be a ring with a large green stone set. She pulled on the green stone, then slipped the ring back into her pocket.

Halfway across town, the Black Beauty was en route to Sid Scott's residence. An alarm blared from the bank of devices in the car. The Hornet checked to see what was causing the alarm. He saw the radar put the location of the distress signal from the vicinity of Marsha Blackwell's residence. "That's Casey," the Hornet deduced. "We'll catch up with Scott later, Kato. Head for Marsha's apartment. Something's wrong."

Kato nodded and set about changing direction.

* * *

Casey was quickly tied to a straight back chair from Marsha's dining room suite. The intruders left Casey at the dining table. They moved the other chair to the hall, where they bound and gagged Marsha. Marsha flinched in pain when Costello applied tight pressure to the rope that dug into her injured ankle. "That hurts!" she managed to approximate through the fabric in her mouth.

"It hurts?" Costello asked for clarification. "Too bad," he scoffed after Marsha nodded. "You shouldn't have jumped the other day. It would've saved us all a lot of trouble."

Newby picked up the phone on Marsha's coffee table and dialed a number. "Mr. Scott? This is Newby. We have Dusty's sister. Don't worry, she won't be jumping this time." He listened to Scott on the other end, his expression changing from jubilation to concern as his boss talked. "Yes, sir," he said slowly, "I got it. Bye."

Costello was tying Casey's gag when Newby hung up. Newby gestured for Costello to join him away from the table. "What's up?" Costello asked.

"The boss said tomorrow will be Dusty's last race," Newby replied with a somber tone and a look of disapproval on his hardened face.

"He's gonna kill him?" Costello hissed in a low voice.

"Looks like it."

"Then what are we supposed to do with these two?" Costello said in an angry whisper. Newby silently shrugged.

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. The two men looked at each other in surprise, then at each woman at opposite ends of the apartment. Newby produced a gun from his jacket and slowly followed Costello to the door. Costello reached for the doorknob, but Newby grabbed his elbow to stop him. "Maybe they'll leave if we don't answer," Newby whispered. After a few tense seconds another knock came. "The lights," Newby mused. "They must've seen the lights on from outside."

Costello put his hand on the doorknob but did not open the door. "Maybe I can make 'em think they're at the wrong address," he whispered to Newby. He then raised his voice and called in a groggy tone, "Who is it?"

"Sid Scott sent me," came the reply from the other side of the door.

Costello's brow wrinkled. He attached the security chain then cracked the door open. He was greeted by a kick applied to the door by Kato. The chain on the door was powerless to withstand the force of Kato's foot. The door flew open as the chain collapsed helplessly to the doorframe, pulled from the latch on the door. The combination of the surprise and the force behind the door sent Costello backwards on his heels. Kato took two steps inside the open door then applied his left foot to Newby's rotund stomach with a _kiai_ shout. Newby landed on his bottom before Kato's foot returned to the ground, the gun in his hand landing where he had stood before Kato applied the kick.

Costello recovered and reached for the gun, only to find a black shoe on his hand. He let out a yelp of pain and looked up to see the Green Hornet staring down at him. The Hornet applied additional pressure to Costello's hand with his foot, causing another shout of pain. Costello pried his hand free. The Hornet kicked the gun across the floor, where it came to rest under the chair Casey was tied to. Costello started to his feet. The Hornet grabbed him by his collar, helping him up then gave him two powerful punches – a left, then a right – to his face. Costello became reacquainted with the floor, landing face first. The Hornet paused to close the apartment door lest someone pass by and take notice of the fight.

Newby had the unfortunate task of trying to deal with Kato. He stood near the masked man, his fists extended and moving like a boxer feeling out his opponent. Seeing that he was a good six inches taller and knowing he weighed more, he allowed a false sense of security to cause him to attack. The first thing he felt was Kato's left shoe against his right ear. Before he could react to the pain Kato applied three more blows, one to the stomach and two to the neck. Newby collapsed to the floor, lying in a similar position to his partner near the door. Kato stood over him for a moment, his right arm at a 90 degree angle and his left arm pointing straight down toward his prey, looking for any sign of movement. When no movement occurred Kato turned his glance to the Hornet.

The Hornet saw Casey tied to the chair at the table. He looked down the hall and saw another form in the dimly lit corridor. He silently gestured to Kato to go down the hall. Kato jumped over Newby's fallen form and went to free Marsha. The Hornet went to Casey. He first removed the gag from her mouth. The liberation caused her tightened jaw muscles to shoot a tinge of discomfort through her face as her mouth returned to its normal form.

"You don't know how happy I am to see you," Casey said so softly she nearly mouthed the words instead of spoke them.

"Where's Mike?" the Hornet asked in an equally inaudible voice.

"Covering the grocery store fire," Casey replied as the Hornet untied her bonds.

"We heard that cleared on the police scanner. He should be here shortly." He looked into the hall and raised his voice. "We've got company coming, that _Sentinel_ reporter Axford. Step on it."

"Right, Boss," Kato called. He finished freeing Marsha. "Are you okay, Miss?" he asked with the same gentle tone that had caused Marsha solace earlier in the week upon her initial meeting with the Green Hornet.

"He tied it too tight on my ankle," she replied, the pain in her foot evident in her voice.

"We have to move fast," Kato said. "Let me carry you."

Marsha was in no position – physically or emotionally – to argue. She nodded her approval, and Kato picked her up from the seat. As he came down the hall the Hornet went to the door and opened it for him. "Get her to the car," the Hornet said. "I'll be down in a second."

"My crutches," Marsha called.

"Don't worry about them," Kato said as he left the apartment. The Hornet closed the door after them then walked to the phone. He dialed Frank Scanlon's office.

"Scanlon," Frank answered on the first ring.

"This is an anonymous tip," the Hornet said. Frank knew exactly who was on the other end of the line, but because the incoming phone line was not outfitted with a scrambler that kept uninvited people from listening in on the conversation, he made no indication that he knew the caller. "Get to Marsha Blackwell's apartment," the Hornet said, "142 Andrews Drive, apartment 27. You'll find two members of Sid Scott's gang there, gift-wrapped. Good night." The Hornet hung up.

Casey joined him at the phone, Marsha's crutches in her hand. "Thanks, Casey," the Hornet said with a gesture of his head toward the crutches she had retrieved.

"I think you need to know," Casey said solemnly, "I overheard them say that Sid Scott plans to kill Dusty after the race tomorrow."

The Hornet sighed at the news with a shake of his head. "Let's hope we can prevent that."

"Would you like me to go watch for Mike?" Casey offered.

"No," the Hornet replied. "You can get down to the car. I'll be down as soon as I tie these two up." Casey left the apartment with the crutches. The Hornet quickly tied the unconscious men up with the ropes that had held the two women prisoner. He then pulled his Hornet Gun out and gave each man a quick dose of Hornet Gas under their noses. The sound of sirens faintly broke the silence in the apartment. The Hornet put the gun back into the inside pocket of his overcoat and left the apartment, closing the door behind him. In the hallway the Hornet heard the whirring of the elevator moving. He ducked into the stairwell just as the doors opened and Mike Axford stepped out.

"Let's roll," he instructed as he jumped into the back seat of the Black Beauty. Kato put the car in drive and took off, the door the Hornet had entered through barely having time to close before the automobile was in motion.

Marsha was in the back seat with the Hornet, while Casey sat in the front passenger seat. After the Black Beauty escaped the area where police were closing in to respond to the phone call Frank had relayed, the Hornet turned his attention to Marsha, who sat dumbfounded on the other side of the car, staring intently at the man in the green mask. "Hello again, Miss Blackwell," he said.

"How did you find me?" she asked timidly.

"I was curious as to why you didn't tell the _Sentinel_ anything that you told me about your brother, so I did some checking. I was coming to ask you to verify things, and I just happened along at the right time. The right time for you, at least."


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"Hello?" Dusty Blackwell said into his phone. He was unaccustomed to phone calls after 8:00 p.m., so the ringing of the phone took him aback.

"Hi, Blackwell," Sid Scott said cheerfully.

"Hello, Mr. Scott," Dusty sighed.

"You don't sound too happy to hear from me," Scott chided. "I'm just calling to give you some friendly advice. My boys are 'babysitting' with your sister, so to speak. Don't even _think_ about messing with my race card tomorrow. Do you understand?"

Dusty nodded ruefully, finally putting vocalization behind the gesture. "I'll do whatever you want," he managed to say. "Just don't hurt Marsha."

The phone went dead and Dusty sank into his recliner, burying his face in his hands. He only had a moment alone with his thoughts, however, as the phone again rang. He did not want to talk to anyone, but he found himself answering the phone. He, however, said nothing in greeting.

"Blackwell?"

The voice was not Scott's. "Yes?" Dusty said carefully.

"I want you outside of your house in five minutes. We need to talk."

"Who is this?"

"We met last night."

"The Green Hornet?"

"Yes."

"Listen," Dusty whispered as if the walls of his home would report anything he said, "please leave me alone. My sister's been kidnapped."

"_Had_ been kidnapped," the Hornet corrected. "I have her with me."

"What?" Dusty shouted, as confused as overjoyed by the news. "But I just got a call..."

"Be outside of your house in five minutes," the Hornet interrupted. "Then you can decide who you're going to believe – Sid Scott, or me."

Dusty hung up the phone and grabbed his keys. He went out of his house, almost in his haste forgetting to lock the door behind him. He ran to the curb and waited, his head turning side to side as if he were watching a tennis match, looking for the Green Hornet.

The Black Beauty came to a stop in front of Dusty. The Hornet had the back left door open before the car stopped rolling. He said nothing but motioned for Dusty. The jockey hastily ran around the back of the car to where the Hornet stood. "Get in," the Hornet instructed.

The first thing Dusty saw when he climbed into the back of the car was his sister. "Marsha!" He quickly slid across the seat to where Marsha sat and hugged her.

The Hornet got in behind him. "Drive," he instructed Kato. Kato moved the car away from the curb. He turned off the street and moved in the direction of the city limits, where there would be less opportunity for the police to interrupt them.

Casey listened silently from the front passenger seat with a sense of excitement. She savored every moment riding along in the Black Beauty. _Altruism_, she thought. _That word should have Britt Reid's photo next to it in the dictionary_. Casey saw how reporters argued over bylines and "who broke the story first" nearly every day in the city room to stoke their egos. Just a few feet from her, however, sat her employer, a wealthy man who inherited a newspaper then expanded his media empire by acquiring a television station. He had all of the trappings of money and success. Yet, while most millionaires did deeds to get buildings or streets named after them, Britt took on crime, and did so in a manner that not only ensured he got no credit for his actions, but also made him a most vilified man.

She kept her eyes out of the back seat, alternating her gaze between the road and Kato. _Where would Britt be without him_, she thought. A gifted Korean man, sworn by custom to Britt Reid's service after Britt saved his life, he put his college education to use to concoct the weaponry that helped make the Green Hornet a most feared figure. Kato himself used his prowess in karate to subdue those who thought him too small or slight to be a formidable opponent. While the façade that Kato presented to guests at Britt Reid's home was that of a servant, Casey knew better. They were partners.

The Hornet allowed Dusty and Marsha a few moments for a reunion. He watched the night roll by the window as the Black Beauty cut through the darkness. When the siblings' frightened silence filled the car, he turned his attention inside the car. "Okay, Blackwell," he said. "This is twice. The third time might not be a charm, for you or your sister."

Dusty could scarcely put volume behind his voice. "How can I thank you?" he said.

"You can start by telling me what Sid Scott's up to," the Hornet replied.

Dusty shook his head timidly. "No," he mumbled. "Do you know what he'll do to me?"

The Hornet snorted a laugh of contempt. "Do you think I care what he _threatens_ to do to you?"

"It's not your neck," Dusty protested with sudden courage.

The Hornet turned on his right hip to give Dusty a better, more intimidating look at his masked face. "I'll guarantee your neck, and your sister's. As I said, what he _threatens_ and what he can actually _do_ are two separate things. He obviously can't keep me from getting Marsha away from him." The Hornet leaned a little closer. "Now, _talk_. Sid Scott's got you throwing races, doesn't he?"

Dusty nodded silently with an embarrassed look on his face that was mostly concealed by the darkness. "Dusty, no!" Marsha said with a slump of her shoulders. Dusty ignored the Hornet for a brief moment to give his sister another confirming nod of his head. "Why?" She slapped his shoulder. "You are the best jockey going. Everyone says so. How could you throw that away?"

"Listen, Marsha, I'm sorry I got involved. I tried to get out, but Scott said no. I think that's probably when he picked you up the first time, after I asked him to let me out."

"What's the deal?" the Hornet said.

"He gave me $5000 at the start of the spring meet," Dusty replied. "Once a week one of his 'associates' calls me and tells me which races they want me to lose."

"And now you want out?" the Hornet asked.

"Absolutely. I can't sleep at night, and I can't look myself in the mirror in the morning."

"Okay, Blackwell, I'm going to give you that opportunity."

Dusty emitted a sigh with a hopeful look at the Hornet. "You will? How?"

"I imagine Scott's told you to throw the Sentinel Stakes tomorrow, right?" Dusty nodded. "I'm going to keep you and your sister as my 'guests' tonight to make sure Scott doesn't get to you. Tomorrow I'll escort you to the racetrack. You win that race, then you tell the police _everything_ about Sid Scott. Got it?" Dusty again nodded. "If you want out," the Hornet continued, "the _only_ way you're going to get out is to come clean. This is your chance. It may be the _only_ chance you get. I suggest you take it."

"You sound like you want Sid Scott caught," Dusty said, almost chuckling.

"I _do_ want him caught," the Hornet said, causing a look of surprise on Dusty's face. "In this line of work, the fewer horses in the race, so to speak, the better."

"I understand," Dusty said, the anxiety creeping back into his voice, "but there's one problem. I can't... how do I put this politely? I can't afford to pay you for your 'services.' And, I want all the way out, I don't want to go from the frying pan to the fire." He realized what he had said and quickly added, "Um, no offense."

The faintest hint of a smile crossed the Hornet's lips. "None taken. In fact, I consider that a compliment. As for my services, I've done some research. Betting odds on you aren't as low as they used to be because of all the races you've lost this year. A bet on you to win tomorrow will net a good return. Between that and your testimony helping get rid of some competition, I'll consider that your 'payment.' Fair enough?"

"You bet!" Dusty said enthusiastically.

Marsha leaned forward to look at the Hornet. "Mr. Hornet, may I ask you something?" she said. "I don't get it. Why are you helping my brother get out of this racket?"

_If you only knew how much I hate criminals_, the Hornet thought to himself. "Your brother made a mistake, or a bad snap judgment, whichever you choose to call it. He doesn't want to spend the rest of his life as a criminal. If he wants to go straight, who am I to stand in his way? As I said, the fewer horses in the race, the better."

Dusty extended his hand toward the Hornet. He felt the black leather glove on the Hornet's right hand slide into his. "Thank you, Mr. Hornet," Dusty said, "from the bottom of my heart."

* * *

The phone on Brit's desk rang. Kato, still in his black uniform except for the mask, gloves, and cap, picked the receiver up. "Mr. Reid's residence," he said. He listened for a moment, then extended the phone toward Britt who, like Kato, had only paused from the evening long enough to remove his hat, gloves, and mask. "It's Mike Axford," Kato announced.

Britt sighed. They had stopped just long enough to drop the Blackwells, unconscious courtesy of Hornet Gas, off, securing them in a locked storeroom in the basement. The siblings were placed on cots and supplied with blankets and pillows. Marsha received an extra pillow for her injured foot. A quick meal, hardly five-star fare but enough to sustain the two guests, was prepared and left on a folding card table in the storeroom. Their next task was to deal with Sid Scott, not chat with Mike.

Britt took the phone from Kato. "Yes, Mike?"

"Boss," he said, "I feel terrible."

"Take two aspirin," Britt quipped.

"No," Mike said. "It's Casey. I was going to Marsha Blackwell's, but I stopped to cover a fire. By the time I got there, bang! Marsha and Casey were gone and the police were there."

"Mike," Britt said.

"I'll tell you, if something happened to Casey..."

"Mike..."

"I'll never forgive myself, and..."

"Mike!"

"What?"

"Casey's fine. She's here."

"What?" Mike stammered. "Great! What happened?"

"She said two men broke in Marsha's apartment. The Green Hornet showed up and rescued them. He asked her some questions then dropped her off about a block from here."

"I should've known the Green Hornet was behind it! 'Rescued'? Is she alright?"

"Fine, Mike, although I have some bad news for you." Britt flashed a smile at his secretary, who sat in a chair near the fireplace. "She said the Green Hornet was the perfect gentleman."

"Oh, no!" Mike nearly sobbed.

"Don't worry about it, Mike. You and Casey can get together tomorrow at the race track, and she'll tell you all about it."

"Okay, Boss. Boy, do I owe Casey."

"Yes, you _do_," Britt agreed. "Good night, Mike."

Britt hung up the phone and looked at Casey. "Poor Mike," Casey said with a devilish smile but a tone that indicated she truly felt sorry for her co-worker. "More good press for the Green Hornet. Mike might have to find another line of work if this keeps up."

Britt acknowledged her joke then turned serious. "Listen, Casey, I want you to stay here tonight."

"Sure, but why?"

"I don't know if Scott knows you were there, which might make you a target. Let's play it safe."

Kato left the room without any cue from Britt. He returned quickly, carrying a white terrycloth bathrobe. "Here, Miss Case," he said, extending the robe to her.

"Thanks, Kato," she said.

Britt put the green fedora on his head then picked up the green mask. "Don't wait up," he said playfully, "we'll be late. Make yourself at home."

Casey watched Britt slide the mask onto his face, a mixture of emotions permeating her. She admired him for his crusade against crime. Britt was a handsome man, tall, dark hair and blue eyes, with a pleasant disposition, so she also felt a strong degree of infatuation for her boss. "Be careful," she said.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Sid Scott sat at the desk in his den. The figures in his ubiquitous notebook were the focus of his attention. Tip sheets from the racetrack and other thoroughbred racing prognosticators lay on the desk in a seemingly haphazardly manner, but Scott knew where every magazine was when he needed to consult a figure. Even though he was home, he was attired in a business suit. He mumbled figures to himself as he wrote on paper, calculated, and entered results in his notebook.

Scott heard a little commotion outside of the oak double doors that sealed off his den from the rest of the house. He continued to work on figures, obviously irritated by the noise. The distraction was short, but enough to cause Scott's impatience to bubble over. He slapped his pen on top of a stack of racing forms and pushed an intercom button. "Will you please hold it down out there?" he snarled. He turned the intercom off without waiting for a reply. He mumbled something under his breath about incompetence before he picked his pen back up.

"Sorry about the noise," came a voice from behind Scott, near the window. Scott turned around with a start and saw the Green Hornet.

Scott jumped to his feet and pressed the intercom button so hard his finger nearly went through the device. "Get in here _now_!" he bellowed.

The door to the den opened and Kato entered. "You want something?" he asked. When the startled look on his face asked a silent question, Kato replied, "Your 'associates' are incapacitated at the moment."

Scott tried to gather himself. "What do you want?" he asked, turning his attention from Kato to the Hornet.

"I'm here to discuss a business proposition," the Hornet said, moving away from the window he had entered through and toward Scott. In response Scott backpedaled until the small of his back pressed against the side of his desk. "Let's talk horse racing."

"Shouldn't you go to the track if you want to discuss horse racing?" Scott sneered, attempting to regain his composure.

The Hornet picked up a handful of racing forms and scattered them across the desk. "I'd say I'm in the right place." The Hornet gestured toward the leather seat Scott had just vacated. "Have a seat."

"No, thanks."

The Hornet moved closer. Scott stared at the hornet between the eyes on the mask. "I'll be brief. How much money do you stand to make tomorrow on the Sentinel Stakes?"

"I don't have a clue what you are talking about," Scott said, still avoiding eye contact.

The Hornet grabbed Scott's lapels and pushed him into the chair. "If you didn't 'have a clue,' I wouldn't be wasting my time here," the Hornet snapped. "Let me give you some 'clues,' since you allegedly don't have one. Your men tried to kidnap Marsha Blackwell again this evening. I was in her neighborhood to ask her some questions about what she told the press, because what she told the press didn't match what she told me. To make a short story even shorter, I have Marsha Blackwell now."

"What?"

The Hornet picked up Scott's telephone receiver. "You doubt me? Call Marsha Blackwell's apartment. We took the liberty of looking the number up for you before we came."

"It's 555-1835," Kato recited.

Scott refused to dial the number, so the Hornet did the honors. After the phone rang, he put the receiver to Scott's ear. "Police, Sergeant Brown," Scott heard over the phone. He grabbed the phone from the Hornet's hand and slammed it down.

"Any questions?" the Hornet said.

"What does this have to do with me?"

The Hornet threw some of the racing forms off Scott's desk in a rage. "How much do you stand to make on the Sentinel Stakes tomorrow?" he repeated, slightly slower and more intensely than previously.

"It's just a small bet," Scott said. "I'm looking at about $500."

The Hornet moved from the side of the desk to behind it. He grabbed the arms of the chair and spun Scott to where he had no option but to look at him. "Don't play games with me, Scott. You haven't been involved in a racket for that small a sum of money since you were in grade school." The Hornet smiled, which made Scott more nervous. "You see, Scott, I not only have Marsha Blackwell, I have Dusty as well. Dusty was most cooperative with me. He told me everything, including that you paid him $5000 to throw races this spring." The Hornet released the chair and stood erect. "You're not going to pay out ten times the amount of money you're going to take in."

The Hornet gestured for Kato. The Hornet's accomplice walked to a coffee table in front of a plush sofa to Scott's left. He said nothing, only emanating a shout as he hit the table with his right hand. The table snapped in half as if it were made of toothpicks.

After watching Kato's demonstration, the Hornet returned his glare to Scott. "Last time, Scott. How much?"

Scott was as impressed by Kato's show of force as he was frightened. "Okay," he said. "The rough estimate is for about three-quarters of a million dollars just for the Sentinel Stakes. Maybe a million, depending on the amount of money bet. As things stand right now, it's no less than $750,000."

The Hornet nodded. "A tidy sum, and enough to share. Here's my offer, Scott: you give me half."

"Half?" Scott snorted. "You must be crazy." Kato took an attack stance in response to Scott's comment, causing him to flinch. "Sorry," he said quickly. "But tell me, why should I give you half just because you ask for it?"

"Because," the Hornet said, "I have the option of dropping Dusty Blackwell off at the racetrack tomorrow, or dropping him off at the _Daily Sentinel_ and letting him tell his story to them. He told me he met with Britt Reid earlier today, but didn't tell him anything then. He said he got cold feet. I can make sure his feet aren't so cold tomorrow." The Hornet walked toward the door, Kato following. When he reached the door, he turned and took a final look at Scott. "It's your option, Scott," he said. "You can give me fifty percent, or I take Dusty Blackwell to the newspaper, he tells them and the police, you go to prison, and I get it _all_." As soon as he uttered the last word he turned and marched out the door. Kato closed the door behind him, leaving Scott alone and shaken in his den.

After the Green Hornet departed, Scott's fear turned to anger. He became more incensed each time his peripheral vision caught sight of the coffee table that Kato had chopped in half. Additionally, he had the problem of no longer having the leverage of holding Marsha Blackwell hostage to keep Dusty silent. His figures for a huge take at the racetrack now seemed as elusive as finding the money in a garbage can. Worse, two of his henchmen were apparently in police custody, captured somehow at Marsha Blackwell's apartment.

The three men who were still available to Scott stumbled into the den, having recovered from their encounter with Kato. Gene Haley, already wearing one bandage because of a rock, now sported a bruise on the opposite side of his face. Scott in his anger wanted to lambaste the three men for letting one man overpower them; however, given the condition of his coffee table, he could scarcely criticize his men with any sincerity. As much humbled by their defeat at the hands of the Green Hornet's chauffer as they were leery of their boss's rage, the three men stood silently halfway between the door and the desk. Scott paced back and forth, which did nothing to ease the tension among his cohorts.

"I need an alternate plan," Scott mused as he walked. He stopped in mid pace, his foot off the ground as if propped on an invisible step. "I have an idea." He reached for his telephone.

Outside, the duo reached the Black Beauty and pulled away from Scott's home. As they allowed the night to swallow them the Hornet picked up the car phone and dialed Frank Scanlon's home number. "Hello?" he heard in the receiver.

"Sorry for calling so late, Frank."

"It's okay, Britt," Frank said. "I hadn't turned in yet. I was hoping you'd call. What's up?"

"I need to know if you have a map of the layout of Motor City Downs."

"I can get one."

"Can you bring it over first thing tomorrow?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"We just paid a visit to Sid Scott. Casey overheard one of his men say he plans to kill Dusty Blackwell tomorrow to keep him from talking. I told him he's already talked, and I'll let him give the information to the paper. Hopefully that'll take the heat off Dusty."

"Yes, but it puts the heat on you, Britt."

"At least I know it's coming, Frank, and I can be ready for it."

* * *

Despite Britt's admonition to Casey to "not wait up," she was awake when he returned to his townhouse. She was curled up on the sofa in Britt's living room with a book from his den. Casey had enjoyed the luxury of her boss's home while he was gone, treating herself to a dinner of veal piccata that she cooked, followed by a long bath. She then settled down to read wrapped in the terrycloth bathrobe, enjoying a cup of Earl Grey tea as she read.

"Casey!" Britt said with surprise when he entered from shedding his green clothing. He had not bothered, due to the late hour, to don a tie or jacket, so he was wearing his white shirt with the collar open. "I thought you'd be in bed by now."

"I couldn't sleep," Casey playfully complained. "Your phone wouldn't stop ringing." She smiled as she laid the book aside. "Mr. Scanlon called. He's bringing the map you asked for. He should be here any time. Mike called, too. Twice." Britt rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "The first time he wanted to make sure the Green Hornet didn't hurt me."

"And that he really wasn't 'gentlemanly'?" Britt smiled.

Casey nodded. "The second time, he called from the office. He said he received an anonymous phone call saying that Dusty Blackwell had been kidnapped by the Green Hornet."

Britt's smile vanished. He darted to the phone and quickly dialed Mike Axford's desk at the _Sentinel_. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Mike's voice on the line. "Mike?"

"Evenin', Boss," Mike said enthusiastically.

"Miss Case said you received an anonymous tip that the Green Hornet had kidnapped Dusty Blackwell?"

"Yes," Mike said. "I'm writing the story right now. If I hurry I can have it ready for the late edition."

"Kill it, Mike," Britt ordered.

"What?" Mike said in disgust.

"The phone call was a hoax, Mike," Britt explained. "I just saw Dusty Blackwell, and he most definitely has _not_ been kidnapped."

Mike calmed down upon hearing Britt's explanation, although he was still upset that he could not engage in his favorite pastime of attacking the Green Hornet with the printed word. "Why would someone call and say that?" he wondered aloud.

"I think we'll have our answer to that tomorrow," Britt said. "Make sure you bring a big notepad to the track. I have a feeling you're gonna need it."

"Right, Boss," Mike said. "Good night."

Britt hung up the phone. As he did, he heard the alarm in the den, notifying him that Frank was in the crude elevator that served as a secret entrance to Britt's home. Frank used it to avoid arousing suspicion. Although both men were public figures and good friends, Frank being seen too many times coming and going at Britt's house might cause people to inquire about the reason, especially if the _Sentinel_ appeared to be getting "scoops" on law enforcement's progress on certain crimes.

Kato was in the den when the alarm went off. He moved the three books that allowed the fireplace to open and the one-man cage to descend. Kato had built the device, and included a safety feature: if the books were not moved within a set amount of time the passage behind the fireplace filled with Hornet Gas. The books had to be moved in the proper order, too, or whoever was inside the cage would be unconscious from the non-lethal gas.

The fireplace façade rose as the cage with Frank inside descended from the street above. When the steel cage reached the bottom a step automatically slid out, allowing Frank to step down instead of having to jump. Now that he was in his late 40s, Frank appreciated the thoughtful addition of that feature.

"Good evening, Kato," Frank said as he stepped out of the cage. When Britt and Casey arrived in the room, he repeated a greeting to them. Like Britt, Frank eschewed the formal business attire since he had driven to Britt's home from his own house instead of from the office. "I have your map."

"You didn't have to come over tonight, Frank," Britt said, taking the map from Frank's hand.

"I don't know what you've got planned," Frank said, "but I want you to have as much time as possible to plan it."

"Thanks. Sid Scott's apparently doing a little planning of his own. Someone called Mike Axford and gave him a tip that the Green Hornet had kidnapped Dusty Blackwell. Given the timing, I'm betting it was Scott."

"Why would he do that?" Frank said.

"If a story comes out in the _Sentinel_ tomorrow that the Green Hornet has kidnapped Dusty Blackwell, and if they plan on killing Dusty as Casey heard them say, that would make the Green Hornet the prime suspect in Dusty's murder."

"And it's no secret how Mike Axford feels about the Green Hornet," Kato said.

"So he would be the obvious person to call," Frank said, "because he would write the article first and check for authenticity of the caller's claims later."

"Precisely," Britt said. "I called him and told him to kill the article."

"Didn't he question that?"

"Not after I told him I'd just spoken with Dusty Blackwell," Britt said.

Britt unfolded the map of Motor City Downs and laid it on the desk. The four people who knew the truth about the Green Hornet looked at the map. Britt pointed to a section of the grandstands. "This is the area reserved for the _Sentinel_ staff for tomorrow's race," Britt said. The section contained prime seats, near the track at ground level and aligned with the finish line. "Casey, I'm going to give you a two-way radio. If you see _anything_ suspicious, call me." Casey nodded as Kato removed a two-way radio cleverly disguised as a makeup compact kit from a drawer in Britt's desk and handed it to her.

"What do you want me to do?" Frank asked.

Britt pulled the watch out of his pocket and held it up. "Just be standing by. We have to play this by ear."

"You're going to be in a tight situation, aren't you?" Frank said. "I mean, Britt Reid has to present a trophy."

Britt shrugged. "I also have to prevent a murder, if I can."


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Saturday morning dawned gloriously, a lovely spring day with a crisp, light breeze that presented the promise of a perfect day for outdoor events such as an outing at the racetrack. Surprisingly, everyone in the Reid residence slept well. Dusty and Marsha Blackwell had the assurance of being "out of sight" and rested without fear of Sid Scott making a third attempt to kidnap the young woman. The accommodations were hardly luxurious, but given the attacks and the threat hanging over Dusty's head, the most important thing was that they were safe. While Dusty arrived in mortal fear of the Green Hornet, his opinion was tempered considerably by the facts that they were fed, given blankets and cots instead of being forced to sleep on the concrete floor, and that his sister was courteously provided an additional pillow for her foot.

Britt had a good night's rest as well. On more than one occasion he was at the paper all day and out all night, so he had no trouble falling asleep. He had long since given up letting concerns of what might happen rob him of rest.

Breakfast was served, first to the Blackwells in the basement holding room. Britt donned his criminal clothing and took the tray of food to them, obtaining the time Dusty was required to be at the track. He left them to have their meal in private and returned to his own dining room after removing the hat, mask, gloves, and overcoat. Casey and Kato joined him for breakfast, and the three reviewed the plans and layout of the map Frank had provided one final time.

Casey left first, driving Britt's white convertible. Her plan was to first stop at her own apartment to change out of the clothing she had spent the day and night in out of necessity, then to drive to the racetrack. She carried Britt's formal attire in the car with her, the clothes he would need to present the trophy to the Sentinel Stakes victor later in the day. She also had the assignment of escorting Marsha to the _Sentinel_'s grandstand seats, and to serve as an extra pair of eyes to watch for Sid Scott to make a move against Dusty. With all the assignments, Casey still hoped to enjoy a day at the races with her co-workers at the boss's expense.

At precisely 10:00 a.m. the Green Hornet appeared in the basement room again. "It's time," he announced, producing the gun from his inside coat pocket. Marsha was initially frightened by the sight of the gun, but realized that it was the gas gun he had used on her before. The Hornet went to her first and sprayed the gas in her direction. She inhaled the gas willingly and collapsed onto the cot on which she sat. The Hornet then turned to Dusty, sitting on his cot on the opposite side of the room.

As he extended the gun toward Dusty the jockey held his hand up. The Hornet's finger froze on the trigger. "I just wanted to say 'thank you' again," Dusty said. "I won't let you down."

"Don't worry about me," the Hornet replied in a gentle tone that Dusty had never heard from him previously. "Worry more about not letting _yourself_ down." Dusty nodded that he understood, then fell over onto the cot after a quick burst of green gas hit him in the face.

"Kato!" the Hornet called. Kato stepped into the room. "Let's get them to the car." The Hornet picked Dusty up, leaving Marsha for Kato. They made their way up the stairs and to the garage, where the Black Beauty was waiting for them, doors open. The Hornet put Dusty in first, propping his sleeping form against the right rear door. He then helped Kato slide Marsha into the car next to her brother. The Hornet returned to the basement to retrieve Marsha's crutches.

Kato got behind the wheel and started the car. The Black Beauty took off when a false wall rose, leading to the patio area of Britt's townhouse. The path snaked into a tunnel that ended in the alley where Frank Scanlon parked and sneaked into the house. An advertisement for candy mints divided as the Black Beauty hit a trip switch on the pavement in the tunnel. After the tail end of the car passed out the electric eye that was interrupted by the car's passage signaled the sign to close. In less than five seconds no one could tell any car, let alone the notorious Black Beauty, had been in the alley.

Their first destination was Marsha's apartment, a quick stop to allow the young woman to change clothes. Because it was daylight, they had to stick to back roads instead of main streets. The Black Beauty was nearly as notorious as its occupants. While the car could easily outrun any police car, and was loaded with enough lethal weaponry to destroy anything that got in its way, chases took time, something that they did not have if they were to follow their schedule. The weekend streets were free of police presence, however, and the Black Beauty snaked through the side streets and alleys unnoticed.

The phone in the back of the car buzzed. The Hornet picked it up. "Hello?" he said carefully.

Frank was on the other end. "Can you talk?"

"No," the Hornet replied, looking at the two sleeping people in the back seat with him, "too risky."

"That's alright," Frank said, "all you really have to do is listen. I did some checking this morning. Sid Scott has rented a private suite at the track for the entire spring meet. It's suite number ten."

"That helps. Thanks." The Hornet hung the phone up. As he turned back he noticed Marsha start to stir, the effects of the Hornet Gas wearing off.

* * *

The signs pointed toward the parking lots, stables, and employee entrances at Motor City Downs. The sidewalks and main entrance were crowded as people made their way to the track to enjoy the excitement of thoroughbred horse racing. The sun beamed brightly down on the crowd, some just there for the sport and others hoping to leave a little richer than when they arrived.

To the west of the main entrance, situated behind the track and the grandstand, stood a group of two dozen horse stables that were no longer in use because of newer barns built. An alley from a side street led to a disused entrance that led to and from the stables, with a dirt road winding through the old barns. Once the owners and trainers used this passage to truck their horses onto the property. Because of the new construction on the opposite side of the track, this side of the track was deserted. A concealed parking place between old stables was the perfect place to hide the Black Beauty. Additionally, the old stables were on the same side of the track as the grandstand, which would allow a quick entrance and exit. The logistics of getting in and out were committed to memory, thanks to careful study of the map Frank had provided.

Dusty and Marsha bade farewell to the Green Hornet about a block from the main entrance. The siblings climbed out of the car in silence. Marsha wanted to say something but she was unsure of what to say. She merely waved a goodbye before hopping toward the entrance on her crutches. Dusty started after his sister, but was stopped by the voice of the Hornet. "Blackwell!" Both turned around. "Don't ever let me see you on this side of the law again." Dusty nodded and continued on toward the track with his sister.

The Hornet watched the two walk away, discussing among themselves their ordeal with the Green Hornet. "Okay, Kato," he said, "let's go."

Kato maneuvered the car down the alley to the abandoned entrance. An eight-foot high gate blocked the entrance, the gate secured by a heavy chain and padlock. Kato stopped at the gate. The Hornet got out of the back seat, reached into his inside pocket, and produced a sonic device known as the Hornet Sting. Another one of Kato's inventions, the Hornet Sting used highly concentrated sonar to destroy inanimate objects. The device could harm humans, too, but Britt Reid's crusade against crime did not include bestowing on himself the role of judge, jury, and executioner while behind the green mask.

The Hornet extended the Hornet Sting by pushing a button. The device quickly changed from a foot-long cylinder shape to three feet long, completed with a firing mechanism that dropped down. The Hornet aimed the Sting at the lock and fired. The ultrasonic waves pounded the chain and padlock for five seconds. The lock and chain snapped, then fell to the ground. The Hornet returned the Hornet Sting to its original position then pushed the gate open. Kato drove the car through the open gate. The Hornet walked inside, closing the gate behind them. He picked the chain off the ground and wrapped it around the posts of the gate, giving the appearance that the gate was still secured. He then climbed in the back seat.

Kato guided the car to a stop between two stables. A row of bushes planted near the fence obscured the view from the alley. The hiding spot afforded the additional luxury of being about 100 yards from the grandstands, allowing for a quick escape. Kato killed the engine then looked in the rear view mirror. The Hornet's eyes met his in the reflection. "We move in half an hour," the Hornet said, looking at his wristwatch. Kato nodded silently and slid down in the seat slightly to relax.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Marsha Blackwell relaxed with her crutches next to her in the section of seats reserved for the _Sentinel_ employees. Anxiety gripped her, but most of the _Sentinel_ staff that noticed assumed her concern was excitement for her brother. Casey knew better. She had met Marsha and Dusty at the entrance, explaining to Marsha that she was instructed by Britt Reid to escort Marsha to the prime seats reserved for the paper and the DSTV staff as his guest. Since the track's seating for the families and friends of jockeys was adequate but less than desirable, she gladly opted to accept the gesture from the publisher. The ulterior motive was that Britt wanted Marsha close to Casey in case Sid Scott made another attempt to interfere with Dusty's desire to shed his association with crime.

Mike made his way to Casey's seat amid the crowd of _Sentinel_ and DSTV staffers. Casey had the second seat from the aisle, allowing Marsha to have the extra legroom the aisle seat offered. Casey smiled when she saw Mike. "Enjoying yourself?" she asked.

"No," Mike replied with a frown. "Britt told me to bring a big notepad today." He showed his reporter's notebook, spiral bound at the top with a black cover, to Casey. "I'm a crime reporter! Why do I need this to cover a horse race?"

"I'm sure Mr. Reid had a reason for telling you that, Mike," Casey replied.

Mike grunted a skeptical reply, then extended his index finger toward Casey. "We need to talk. You're not going to try to convince me that the Green Hornet was 'gentlemanly' to you last night, are you?"

"But he _WAS_, Mike."

"Yes, Mr. Axford," Marsha agreed, "he certainly was very polite."

"Bah!" Mike threw his hands in the air and stormed up the steps. Casey struggled to suppress her laugh until the reporter was gone.

A trumpet blared through the racetrack. A cheer from the crowd answered the call to the post. Some people scrambled for their seats or standing position along the rails, while others made the dash to the betting windows to donate money to the dream of winning big on a long shot.

Sid Scott and his three henchmen entered suite 10. Each man wore a black business suit and carried a black briefcase. The rooms were designed for privacy, with no windows in the walls along the corridor. A large plate glass window overlooked the track, two stories above the grandstand. A row of cushioned seats lined the room in front of the window for watching the races, and tables with a wet bar, sink, and closet provided comforts for businessmen to work between races.

Once behind the locked door of the suite the men sat their briefcases on the two tables and opened them simultaneously as if choreographed. Each briefcase contained a portion of a high-powered rifle. Scott and the Haley brothers passed their pieces to Bill White, who expertly assembled the gun. He peered through the telescopic lens after he screwed it into place. The last addition to the weapon was the bullets. Scott watched White load the gun. "If you see the Green Hornet," Scott said, "You can kill him, too. That'll be his 'half' from me."

Gene Haley frowned at the mention of the Hornet. His encounter the previous evening left him with a painful, ugly souvenir on his cheek, and the sound of the name made the wound throb. "Why do you think that tip you called in to the _Sentinel_ wasn't in the paper?" he asked.

"He probably called too late for the story to make the morning paper," his brother Pete replied. "You watch, it'll be in the evening edition."

Scott smiled. "Yes, and by then Dusty Blackwell will be dead. They'll assume he escaped from the Green Hornet, and he tracked him down and killed him." The call to the post blaring through the suite's speaker system took Scott's mind off the Hornet. He handed an envelope to Pete Haley. "Go make the bet," he ordered. "Salt Shaker is the horse we've arranged to win." Pete took the envelope filled with cash and left the suite. Scott gestured to White. "Get up on the roof," he said.

The thought of the task of putting a man in the crosshairs and cutting him down appeared to bring White pleasure. "Sure thing, Mr. Scott," he said with a sadistic smile.

Away from the racetrack the sound of the bugle echoed across the abandoned portion of the track property. Without a word the two masked men left the concealed car and made their way toward the track.

Dusty Blackwell closed his locker in the jockeys' changing room. He wore purple and red silks for his mount in the Sentinel Stakes, a lightning bolt of a horse named North Barber's Pole. The other jockeys in the room were slapping one another on the back and exchanging wishes of luck in preparation for the race. When a fellow jockey would walk by him and offer a greeting, Dusty would respond after a delay as though their voices were bringing him out of a trance. In many regards he was in a trance of sorts. Dusty could not stop thinking about his encounter with the Green Hornet. He knew of the Green Hornet's reputation, but his experience with Scott as well as the Hornet put him squarely in the trust of the man with the mask. He heaved a deep sigh, grateful that, whatever the outcome of the race, his race in crime was nearing the finish line. "Don't let yourself down," the words of the Hornet echoed in the jockey's mind. He smiled, picked up his riding crop and goggles, and left the room.

The announcer's voice echoed on the public address system, which was piped into the private suites. "Ladies and gentlemen, good afternoon, and welcome to Motor City Downs."

Pete Haley returned to the suite, locking the door behind him. He said nothing to the men inside, merely joining them at the window to watch the race.

Bill White took his rifle to the roof via an 2-foot wide ladder that led the entire height of the grandstands backside. The ladder was primarily for maintenance men to climb to the roof, to fix burned out light bulbs, or to hang signs on the outside of the building. The black metal rungs ended about two feet from the ground. Five such ladders were positioned evenly across the back of the grandstands, one positioned outside the first suite, and every third suite thereafter. The ladders were accessible from the open air corridor that led to and from the private suites and served as emergency exits as a last resort if people could not reach the two stairwells at either end of the corridor.

"Today's first race is the mile and a half Sentinel Stakes, sponsored by the _Daily Sentinel_," the man's voice said.

At the foot of the ladder outside of the grandstands the Hornet and Kato could hear the echoing announcement. The Hornet went first, reaching up to grab a rung on the ladder and pulling himself up so he could climb the ladder. Kato followed, looking in all directions before starting his ascent. There was no need to worry about witnesses, however, as the population of the track focused their attention on the impending race.

"Here are your horses and post positions for today's Sentinel Stakes. From the pole position, Ice Storm, at 5-1 odds. From the number two position, Pizza With Anchovies, at 10-1 odds. Salt Shaker starts from the third position, at 80-1 odds. "

The Hornet reached the corridor with the private booths. He climbed over the concrete barricade and quickly looked down the hallway for anyone who might sound the alarm as to his presence. He leaned over the barricade and nodded to Kato that things were clear. Kato joined his partner in the hallway, still keeping a watchful eye in all directions for any sign of anyone.

"From the fourth position, Wild About Saffron at 3-1 odds."

The Hornet tried the door to suite 12 on which hung a lettered sign, "Reserved for _Daily Sentinel_." The door was unlocked. The Hornet cracked the door open and saw the bag with Britt Reid's suit jacket and tie inside. Casey had dropped the bag off before joining her co-workers in the grandstand seats. The Hornet nodded when he saw the bag before closing the door.

"North Barber's Pole starts from the fifth position, at 30-1 odds."

The Hornet paused long enough to shake his head upon hearing how relatively high the odds on a one-time almost automatically victorious jockey and his mount had gone. _Trust_, he thought. _It's a hard thing to regain._

"Cajun Spice is in the sixth position, at 40-1 odds. In the number seven position, Don't Bite Your Nails, at 10-1 odds."

The Hornet and Kato moved past the door with an _11_ on door above a lettered sign that simply said "Private."

"And finally, Prop Jet, at 30-1 odds."

The Hornet's hand was on the door to suite 10. He gently attempted to turn the knob, but the doorknob refused to move. He took two steps backward, reached into his inner pocket, and produced the Hornet Sting. Kato stood to his right, still watching for witnesses.

A shot was fired and the gates flew open. "And they're off!"

The Hornet aimed the Hornet Sting at the doorknob and activated it. After a few seconds the door had all it could stand of the bombardment of sonar and the locking mechanism blew apart. The Hornet kicked the door open, the Hornet Sting still open and ready. Kato barged in behind him, shutting the door so no one who might happen to pass by would see the confrontation.

"Time to pay up, Scott."

Scott and his men turned from the window. The Haley brothers attacked, knocking the chairs they had been sitting in over as they stood to rush the intruders. This time Pete took the kick to the face from Kato. Gene was no more successful with the Hornet, who blocked his swing with the Hornet Sting before punching him in the stomach. Gene doubled over but managed to wrap his arms around the Hornet's waist and push toward the door. Kato went to the Hornet's assistance, providing a blow to Gene's neck. Gene promptly released his grip around the Hornet's waist and collapsed.

Pete charged from behind, thinking he might catch Kato off guard. He charged directly into the right foot Kato thrust out behind him. With three more blows Pete sank to the floor.

"North Barber's Pole gets a good start out of the gate and breaks to an early lead, with Wild About Saffron a close second."

Scott picked a chair up to throw. The Hornet and Kato split up, each going at Scott from opposite sides. Scott could not decide which way to hurl the chair. The Hornet pointed the Hornet Sting in Scott's direction, causing him to momentarily flinch. The split second was all that Kato needed. He took two large steps forward. On the second step he spun on his left foot and extended his right leg into the air. The foot scored a bull's eye on Scott's chest. Scott grunted as he dropped the chair. Kato finished him off with three blows.

"As they make the first turn it's Dusty Blackwell on North Barber's Pole, with Wild About Saffron just behind. Ice Storm is a strong third."

The two men surveyed the room as the Hornet folded the Sting back to its original configuration. All three men were out. The Hornet picked up Scott's notebook. He took a quick glance inside. "We'll make sure Scanlon gets this 'anonymously'," he said, tucking the book inside his coat pocket.

Kato took inventory of the human occupants. "Scott has three men," he said. "There's only two here."

Casey was paying scant attention to the race. She kept looking over her shoulder in the direction of the private suite. As she turned around she saw the reflection of the sun off the telescopic lens on Bill White's rifle. Panicked, she looked around. Her co-workers were preoccupied with the race, their collective gazes on the drama on the track in front of them. Casey reached into her purse and pulled out the compact.

"North Barber's Pole still in front at the quarter pole, with Wild About Saffron, Ice Storm, and Prop Jet coming on strong."

The alarm went off on the Hornet's watch. He pulled the watch out of his pocket and turned the stem. Instead of winding the watch, the stem activated the two-way radio. "Yes?"

Casey gave the appearance of powdering her nose. "There's a man on the roof with a gun," she whispered into the compact.

"Got it." The Hornet turned the radio off and turned to Kato. "The roof. Scott's other man is up there with a gun."

The two men bolted out of the room. The Hornet turned left and Kato went right, each taking a maintenance ladder up to the roof.

"As we near the half-mile pole it's North Barber's Pole opening up a four length lead over Wild About Saffron."

The two men reached the roof simultaneously. Bill White lay on the roof with the rifle, watching the race through the telescopic lens. His position was closer to Kato than to the Hornet. White's attention was solely on the race; and, since he had no reason to think anyone would join him on the roof, he took no thought to distract himself from the horses below to see if he was still the only person on the roof.

"And they turn down the back stretch, with North Barber's Pole opening a commanding lead. Prop Jet and Ice Storm are challenging for second against Wild About Saffron."

Kato snaked toward the man, while the Hornet stood stationary near the ladder. As Kato got within ten feet the Hornet called, "Okay, this race is over!"

White was visibly startled by the sound of a voice that was not emanating from the PA system with an echo. He jerked his head to the left to see the Green Hornet. He rose to his knees and turned his body to face the Hornet, pulling the gun to his eye as he did. Kato moved in, applying a kick to White's neck. White lunged forward and landed face first on the roof, the rifle's telescope jabbing him in the chest.

After a moment White rolled over onto his back, attempting to kick Kato's feet out from under him. Kato was too well versed in martial arts to allow such a thing from an amateur to happen. He jumped over White's flailing feet. White continued to roll onto his right side, jumping to his feet as he did. Kato applied a kick to the rifle, sending it out of White's hands.

"At the three-quarter pole, it's North Barber's Pole running away with the race! Wild About Saffron is struggling to maintain second."

White backed up while reaching down for the gun. His peripheral vision caught sight of the Hornet moving toward him. White's hand caught the barrel of the rifle. He picked it up and swung wildly in the direction of the Hornet. Kato took an attack position, but it was unnecessary. White's swing caught nothing but air, sending him off balance. He fell toward the edge of the roof. There was not enough space left on the roof for him to stop. His momentum took him over the edge toward the outside of the grandstand.

The two men ran to the ladder that ran outside of the _Sentinel_'s suite. Neither man looked down until they reached the corridor outside of the bank of suites. Once safely inside the corridor, they peered over the concrete wall to see White's body on the grass below. The rifle lay next to his hand, jarred free with the fatal impact.

"Just a quarter mile to go in the Sentinel Stakes, and it's North Barber's Pole's race to lose!"

The Hornet ran inside suite 12, removing the hat from his head as he did. Kato ran in behind him, holding the door shut. The Hornet took the notebook out of his pocket and laid it on the table. Off came the mask, gloves, and overcoat. He quickly unzipped the bag Casey had left in the suite and removed a black suit jacket. He stuffed the Green Hornet's clothes into the bag then laid the notebook obtained from the raid on Sid Scott's suite on top. He zipped the bag quickly then tossed it to Kato.

"Two furlongs to go, and North Barber's Pole will win easily!"

Both men went to the picture window. They arrived in time to see North Barber's Pole cross the finish line with no other horse in the vicinity. Dusty Blackwell waved his riding crop in the air in celebration of his victory and his liberation.

Britt smiled before turning back to Kato. He pulled his watch out. "I'm going to call Scanlon," he said. "I'll give you a 15 second head start."

"Make it ten," Kato grinned. He darted out the door with the bag in his hand.

"Dusty Blackwell aboard North Barber's Pole wins the Sentinel Stakes by 12 lengths!"


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

The District Attorney beamed like a new father. The _Sentinel_ banner headline "Horse Racing Racket Busted" lying on Britt's desk made Frank's smile a little brighter every time his eyes caught a glimpse of the words. Frank sat in a chair in front of Britt's desk, reading the list of charges his office had filed against Sid Scott. The list was tedious, covering two pages, but the reality behind the words rang as music in both men's ears.

"Three counts of kidnapping," Frank continued to read, nearing the end of the list, "two counts on Marsha Blackwell and one count on your secretary." Frank peered over the paper at Britt upon mentioning Casey. "And, attempted murder." Frank folded the papers and put them on Britt's desk. "That's for your afternoon edition, Britt. Sid Scott will never be a free man again."

"Can you get the attempted murder charge to stick, since the assassin was killed in the fall?"

"The two men we picked up at Marsha Blackwell's apartment Friday night can't stop talking," Frank replied. "That notebook we 'anonymously' received..." Frank paused to chuckle before continuing. "...Has all the names, dates, and figures to make the other charges stick. Dusty Blackwell has plenty of testimony to give, too."

The mention of the jockey's name brought a pained look to Britt's face. "What about Dusty, Frank? What's going to happen to him?"

"Well, he's cooperating fully, so I'm not going to press any charges against him." Frank's gleeful tone disappeared. "The racing commission, however, is another story. However, he's cooperating with them, too." Frank paused with a laugh. "I was wrong. He's not _fully_ cooperating with us."

"Oh?" Britt said.

"No. He insists that he and his sister went willingly with the Green Hornet and were _not_ kidnapped. They both told us that, if we ever apprehend the Green Hornet, they will refuse to testify against him."

"I'm glad to hear that, but don't tell Mike, okay?"

Frank smiled at Britt's comment. He sank back into his chair, staring admirably at the publisher. "What can I say, Britt?" Frank said with a sigh. "'Thank you' seems so inadequate. I know I'm not supposed to let my personal feelings get to me on this job, but I wanted to throw a party Saturday when I saw the police put the handcuffs on Sid Scott."

Britt smiled with a nod of his head. He knew the feeling. His own father had been the victim of criminals, framed by racketeers seeking revenge for the tough stand against crime that the _Sentinel_ took. While in Britt's father's day the pen may have been mightier than the sword, the modern era required fists as well as the press to tackle crime.

A knock on the door prevented Britt from replying. Casey opened the door. "Mr. Reid," she announced, "Dusty Blackwell is here to see you."

"Please, send him in, Miss Case."

Dusty entered the publisher's office with a nod of gratitude toward Casey. He was neatly attired in a business suit. He carried the trophy Britt had presented to him at the track on Saturday in his hands. He sat the trophy down on the coffee table. It was 18 inches tall, gold plated, with a jockey on a horse on top. The jockey had a newspaper in his hand instead of a whip. The inscription read, "Presented to Dusty Blackwell in commemoration of his victory in the Sentinel Stakes aboard the winning horse, North Barber's Pole."

After putting the trophy down, Dusty first went to Frank and shook his hand. "Mr. Scanlon." He then turned to Britt. "Mr. Reid," he said with his hand extended.

"Good to see you, Dusty," Britt said. He put his index finger on one of the smaller headlines on page one of the _Sentinel_, "Winning Jockey Comes Clean." "This was a good story. I'm glad you told it."

"Thank you, Mr. Reid. It's quite a load off of me." He looked at the trophy on the table. "And, that's why I brought the trophy back."

"No, Dusty," Britt said, "you won the race. You keep that trophy."

"I'd really like to," Dusty said. "I just came from a hearing at the track. I'll be out of horseracing for at least three years. That may be my last award for a very long time."

"Look at it as the first award in your new life," Frank suggested.

"How's your sister?" Casey called from the door.

"She's fine, Miss Case," Dusty said, turning to face the secretary. "She'll be on crutches for another couple of weeks. She's happy to have all of this mess over with."

The door from the city room opened without a knock. Mike Axford walked in, carrying a thin white vase stuffed with flowers. He stopped when he saw the door to Britt's office open and the jockey and D.A. inside. "Oh," he said. "I'll come back later."

"It's okay, Mike," Britt called. "What's that?"

Mike presented the vase of flowers to Casey. "These are for you, Casey," he said. "I told the Boss the other night that I owed you because you were doing me a favor and ended up in the clutches of the Green Hornet."

Casey beamed at the colorful assortment of flowers in the vase. "Thanks, Mike, but you didn't have to do that."

"It's the _least_ I can do. And, I'm taking you to lunch today, my treat!" Mike stopped quickly and looked at Britt. "Unless you're gonna make her work through lunch, Boss."

"Not at all, Mike."

"Mike?" Casey said softly. "I'm not going to retract what I said about the Green Hornet." She smiled, glancing at Britt for an extra moment before leaving the office with her bouquet.

Mike shook his head. "Thanks, Boss," he said to Britt.

"For what?"

"You told me to bring a big notepad to the track Saturday. Boy, were you ever right!"

For the complaining Mike had done initially, the tip to be prepared for a big story proved to be a winner. His notebook was filled with notes and quotes by the time he left the racetrack. After the race Britt escorted his crime reporter and the Blackwells to the private suite, where Dusty made a full confession. Two doors from Britt's suite the police and Frank had Sid Scott under arrest. After the lengthy conversations Mike went home and produced the lead story on page one of the Sunday edition of the _Daily Sentinel_. The Monday morning edition contained follow-up news and sports articles.

"I'd better get back to the office," Frank said. He gestured toward Britt's desk. "Britt has the list of charges against Scott, Mike," he told the reporter. He left with a wave of his hand over his shoulder.

Dusty watched Frank walk out into the city room through the window that separated Britt's office from Casey's. "He's been very fair to me," Dusty commented primarily to himself as Frank walked out of sight.

"I've known Frank for years," Britt said. "He's a good man."

"But he can't catch the Green Hornet," Mike protested.

Dusty shrugged. "Mr. Axford, the Green Hornet saved my life, and he saved my sister's life. He helped me get out of a racket that I wanted out of when no one else would help, and he also told me that he never wanted to see me on 'that' side of the law again." Mike's face was turning the shade of his hair again. "He even gave my sister a pillow for her broken ankle." Mike's eyes rolled toward the ceiling. Britt, watching Mike's reaction to the praise the Green Hornet was receiving, tightened his stomach muscles to keep from laughing. "He's a criminal, Mr. Axford. You won't get any argument out of me on that point. But, in a way, he earned my respect." Dusty sighed. "I wish I could tell him 'thank you' one more time."

Dusty stared at his shoes for a moment, then raised his head and extended his hand toward Britt. "Thank you, too, Mr. Reid. I feel so much better now that the truth is out."

"You're welcome, Dusty. If I can do anything to help influence the racing commission, the track, or the jockey association in your favor, let me know."

Britt and Mike watched Dusty leave, taking the same path Frank had walked earlier. Britt's gaze was still focused on Casey's office, but Mike was looking at Britt. "Boss?"

Britt's head turned quickly back to face Mike. "Yes, Mike?"

"I don't have to put that in my story, do I?"

"What?"

"What he said about the Green Hornet."

Britt smiled. Mike had suffered enough at the hands of his nemesis without the reporter ever seeing the masked face. "No, Mike, that'll be our secret."

The End


End file.
